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DENISON'S ACTING PIAYS. 

.4 Partial List of Successful and Popular Plays. Lariie Cataloffue Free. 
Price 15 Cents Each. Postpaid Unless Different Price is Given. 



DRAMAS. COMEDIES. ENTER- 
« TAINMENTS. Etc. 

■• M. F. 

After the Game, 2 acts, 1^ 

hrs (25c) 1 9 

All a Mistake, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 4 4 
All That Glitters Is Not Gold, 

2 acts, 2 hrs 6 3 

Altar of Riches, 4 acts, 2J/$ hrs. 

(25c) 5 5 

American Hustler, 4 acts, 2^ 

hrs (25c) 7 4 

Arabian Nights, 3 acts, 2 hrs. . . 4 5 
Bank Cashier, 4 acts, 2 hrs.(2Sc) 8 4 
Black Heifer, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 9 3 

Bonnybell, 1 hr (25c).Optnl. 

Brooicdale Farm, 4 acts, 2J4 hrs. 

(25c) 7 3 

Brother Josiah, 3 acts, 2 h.(25c) 7 4 
Busy Liar, 3 acts, 2\i hrs. (25c) 7 4 

Caste, 3 acts, 2i/^ hrs 5 3 

Corner Drug Store, 1 hr.(25c)17 14 
Cricket on the Hearth, 3 acts, • 

Wa hrs 7 8 

Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs... 7 4 
Daughter of the Desert, 4 acts, 

2J4 hrs (25c) 6 4 

Down i.- Dixie, 4 acts, 2J^ hrs. 

(25c) 8 4 

East Lynne, 5 acts, 2% hrs 8 7 

Editor-in-Chief. 1 hr (25c) 10 

Elma, 154 hrs (25c) Optnl. 

Enchanted Wood, 1^ h. (35c) Optnl. 

Eulalia, \V2 hrs (25c) Optnl. 

Face at the Window, 3 acts, 2 

hrs ,. .(25c) 4 4 

From Sumter to Appomattox, 4 

acts, 2Y2 hrs (25c) 6 2 

Fun on the Podunk Limited, 

lYz hrs (25c) 9 14 

Handy Andy(Irish),2 acts,l^ h. 8 2 
Heiress of Hoetown, 3 acts, 2 

hrs (25c) 8 4 

High School Freshman, 3 acts, 

2 h (25c) 12 

Home, 3 acts, 2 hrs 4 3 

Honor of a Cowboy, 4 acts, 25^ 

hrs (25c) 13 4 

Iron Hand, 4 acts, 2 hrs. . (25c) 5 4 
It's All in the Pay Streak, 3 

acts, 1^ hrs (2Sc) 4 3 

Jayville Junction, P/$ hrs. (25c) 14 17 
Jedediah Judkins, J. P., 4 acts, 

2y2 hrs (25c) 7 5 

Kingdom of Heart's Content, 3 

acts, 254 hrs (25c) 6 12 

Light Brigade, 40 min (25c) 10 

Little Buckshot, 3 acts, 2% hrs. 

(25c) , 7 4 

Lodge of Kye Tyes, 1 hr.(25c)13 
Lonelyville Social Club, 3 acts, 

1J4 hrs (25c) 10 



M. F. 

Louva, the Pauper, 5 acts, 2 h. . 9 4 
Man from Borneo, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 

(25c) 5 2 

Man from Nevada, 4 acts, 2"^ 

hrs (35c) 9 5 

Mirandy's Minstrels. . . . (2Sc) Optnl. 

New Woman, 3 acts, 1 hr 3 6 

Not Such a Fool as He Looks, 

3 acts, 2 hrs 5 3 

Odds with the Enemy, 4 acts, 

154 hrs 7 4 

Old Maid's Club, VA hrs. (25c) 2 16 
Old School at Hick'ry Holler, 

Wa. hrs (25c)12 9 

Only Daughter, 3 acts, VA hrs. 5 2 
On the Little Big Horn, 4 acts, 

2V2 hrs. (2Sc)10 4 

Our Boys, 3 acts, 2 hrs 6 4 

Out in the Streets, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 

Pet of Parson's Ranch, 5 acts, 2 h. 9 2 

School Ma'am, 4 acts, 1^ hrs.. 6 5 

Scrap of Paper, 3 acts, 2 hrs.. 6 6 

Seth Greenback, 4 acts, 1 J4 hrs. 7 3 

Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2'/^ h. 8 3 

Solon Shingle, 2 acts, 1^ hrs.. 7 2 

Sweethearts, 2 acts, 35 min.... 2 2 
Ten Nights in a Barroom, S 

acts, 2 hrs 7 4 

Third Degree, 40 min (25c) 12 

Those Dreadful Twins, 3 acts, 

2 hrs (25c) 6 4 

Ticket-of -Leave Man, 4 acts, 2^ 

hrs 8 3 

Tony, The Convict, 5 acts, 2^/^ 

' hrs (25c) 7 4 

Topp's Twins, 4 acts, 2 h. .(25c) 6 4 

Trip to Storyland, 1 J4 hrs.(25c) 17 23 

Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 214 hrs. (25c) 8 3 

Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 6 4 
Under the Spell, 4 acts, 2^^ 

his (25c) 7 3 

Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 

FARCES. COMEDIETTAS. Etc. 

April Fools, 30 min 3 

Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 

Aunt Matilda's Birthday Party, 

35 min 11 

Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 

Bad Job, 30 min 3 2 

Betsy Baker, 45 min 2 2 

Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 

Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 

Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 

Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 

Box and Cox, 35 min 2 1 

Cabman No. 93, 40 min 2 2 

Case Against Casey, 40 min ... 23 

Convention of Papas, 25 min. . . 7 

Country Justice, 15 min 8 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 



T. S. DENISON & COMI^ANY. 154 W. Randolph St., Chicago 



The Dream That Came True 



A COMEDY- DRAMA 
IN THREE ACTS 



LINDSEY BARBEE 

AUTHOR OF 

'After the Game,'' "At the End of the Rainbow," "The Fifteentli 

of January^' "The Kingdom of Heart's Content," 

"A Trial of Hearts;' Etc. 



CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 
Publishers 



THE DREAM THAT GAME TRUE 



CHAR.\CTERS. 
(Named in order of appearance.) 

Nax Worthixgtox One of the People 

Gordon Clay Foreman of the Works 

Margaret Byrnes Loyal and True 

Mrs. Jenkins Keeper of the Boarding House 

Angelina Maud Her Daughter 

Jack Brown -i Cub Reporter 

*Miss Louisa Hawkins One of the Boarders 

Florabel Mullins 4 Poetess 

Miss Mehitabel Biddle 4 Suffragette 

Bobbie Byrnes Azerse to College J V omen 

Emmy Lou Norton Fond of Fairy Tales 

Nora -i Maid 

Delphine Norton A College Graduate 

Peggy Gilbert A Broz^^ning Fiend 

Billy Best Captain of the Varsity Team 

Mrs. Allaire The Chaperone 

Doris Hall -in Athletic Girl 

Lord Algernon Reginald Straight from England 

Charles Norton Ozi^ner of the Works 

Scene — A Factory Tozi'n. 

Time — Present Day. 

Time of Playing — About Tz^-o Hours and Fifteen 
Minutes. 

Act I — Parlor in ]^Irs. Jenkins' Boarding House, a week 
before Christmas. 

Act n — Living Room in the Norton Home, the day 
before Christmas. 

Act hi — Sun Parlor m". the Norton Home. Christmas 
evening. • • -" 

First produced by the Gamma Phi Beta Sorority of 
Denver University, on February 16. 1912, at the Woman's 
Club Building. 

copyright, 1913, by eben h. norris. 

9 



S)3:.D 34S13 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 

Act I — Gordon tells Xan of the impending strike. She 
promises that she will bring Norton to terms by finding 
**the leak in the management." "Little comrade." [Marga- 
ret's spirits go down as fast as the thermometer but she 
tries to count her blessings. Mrs. Jenkins discourses upon 
divorce, dancing, cards and the drama. "Ain't you heard 
about the Christmas house-party that old X'orton is going 
to give ?" ^largaret longs for the world, the flesh and even 
for the devil. Angelina ^laud brings in a package. Mrs. 
Jenkins becomes curious. The cub reporter rescues ^liss 
Louisa from the bargain counter. i\Iiss Louisa gives a 
few practical views upon Christmas and proudly displays 
her purchases. Florabel has "temperature" and insists 
upon reading her sonnet. !Mrs. Jenkins and ^Hss Biddle 
have a slight altercation. "It ain't so much the man that 
makes woman foolish, it's the lack of him." "Being a lady. 
Miss ^largaret, is being just like you." Gordon lends Mar- 
garet his handkerchief and is about to offer her something 
else, when Bob interrupts. "Rise up, Cinderella, shakes 
off the ashes." "All I want is Gordon." Xan and ^largaret 
watch the pictures in the fire. "If ever the time comes 
when you need me. I shall stand the test." 

Act II — Emmy Lou gives Xora a lecture upon gods 
and goddesses. X'^ora decides in favor of A'enus. Del- 
phine tells Margaret that "man individually and collec- 
tively has ceased to attract." Bob interrupts and Emmy 
Lou tells him the end of the story about the princess. 
Bob and Delphine discuss woman's rights with unfortu- 
nate results. "If you can't get her — why — Mr. Bob — 
why — I'm here." Billy is subjected to a rigid examination 
upon Browning ; he encourages his teacher, who, in turn, 
encourages him. "If you can't master Browning, Billy, 
try your hand at bridge." Doris interrupts the game, and, 
contrary to her hostess' expectations, proves attractive to 



4 THE dr[-:am that came true. 

the men. Lord Algernon frequently consults his book. 
Nan reads business letters to Norton and subsequently 
makes a discovery. "The strike's on." Gordon tells of his 
love for another. "VW telephone you." Norton refuses to 
make terms. Gordon plays his last trump. "I am William 
Gordon." Nan bids Margaret prove that love is sacrifice. 
The telephone rings. 

Act III — Nora bewails the bewitchments of Minerva. 
Doris gives Bob some good advice. Bob gazes 'into an 
illimitable future." "It's good-bye, Gordon." Bob and 
Margaret make their Christmas wish. "Billy versus Brown- 
ing. Score 20 to in favor of Billy." Lord Algernon 
pleads the cause of Johnny Bull, but Doris is true to Uncle 
Sam. Emmy Lou leads the princess to Venus. Nan has 
her revenge. "The factory girl can be generous." The 
dream comes true ! 



STORY nF TinC PLAY. 

Nan W'orthington, a factory girl, who has risen to better 
things, meets in the factory town a young man, Gordon 
Clay, who, despite his lowly position of foreman of the 
works, is college bred and a gentleman. In the same board- 
ing house with them are Bob and Margaret Byrnes, whose 
fortune has been swept away and who have been brought 
to the small factory town where Bob holds a position in 
the works, given him by the owner, Mr. Ivlorton. Norton's 
daughter, Delphine, is Margaret's greatest friend and 
when the old home of the Nortons is opened for a Christ- 
mas house-party, Bob and Margaret are included in the 
list of guests. Ciordon Clay, tlie" young foreman, is inter- 
ested in the cause of the people ; he has an earnest helper 
in Nan, whose hatred for Norton is due to the fact that 
her brother, a factory hand, has died as a result of poor 
sanitary conditions in the work rooms. Clay, enthusiastic 
in the problem of capital and labor, distressed over the 
poor wages, desiring to find something by which Norton 
may be brought to terms and forced to consider the people's 
needs, thus averting a strike, persuades Nan to act as Nor- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 5 

ton's private secretary during the Christmas holidays. He 
tells her that years before, Norton's partner, an imprac- 
tical man, had left the management of his affairs to Nor- 
ton, and at his death had appointed Norton sole executor 
of the estate until the son's twenty-fifth birthday. The son, 
Clay's friend in college, had spent most of his life in 
Paris, and though his income had come to him regularly, 
he believed that in some way his interests had not been 
properly protected. 

Nan accepts the position and suspects from Norton's 
actions in regard to communications from William Gor- 
don (the son of his friend) that all is not well, but finds 
nothing definite save a letter, which has slipped behind a 
drawer in the desk, signed, "Louis Gordon," revoking his 
order to sell his share of the works and to invest the pro- 
ceeds in stock. On the same day Nan overhears a conver- 
sation between Norton and Clay, in which Clay, upon 
Norton's refusal to grant favorable terms to the strikers, 
threatens him with the name of William Gordon, dramat- 
ically declaring himself that same William Gordon. Nor- 
ton, recovering from his surprise and dismay, accepts as 
a fact Clay's statement, that wishing to study conditions 
in his own factory, he had acted as foreman under another 
name. Then he informs Clay that by his father's wish his 
share of the works had been converted into ready money 
and had been invested in copper stock which had proven 
worthless. Upon Clay's question as to the origin of the 
payments which he had regularly received, Norton informs 
him that he had sent the money, charity money to the 
son of his old friend. Clay refuses to believe him and 
declares that he will fight it out. 

On the next day Nan, who has connected the contents 
of the discovered letter with the matter in hand, confronts 
Norton, in Clay's presence, with his perfidy. She proves 
that Norton had transferred his own worthless stock to 
his ward, after the letter countermanding its purchase was 
received, even after the death of the father. Norton is 
unable to defend himself and Nan, who for years had 
longed for revenge, nobly forgets self and is generous 



6 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

in the terms she demands — the restoration to Clay of his 
property and the speedy redress of the people's wrongs. 

A love plot runs through the story. Clay meeting Mar- 
garet in the boarding house, first admires her sweetness 
and courage in her altered conditions and then learns to 
love her. She returns his love and Clay confides in Nan. 
When Nan, who has loved Clay from the first, learns that 
his affection is given to Margaret^ she is very bitter and 
begs Margaret to give him up. Margaret, who has prom- 
ised that her friendship will stand any test, yields to Nan's 
entreaties. When Clay demands the cause of her change, 
she has no answer and he believes she has heard of his 
worthless inheritance. Nan, however, holds vigil with her- 
self and realizes that Clay's love can never be hers and 
that her dreams of happiness may be realized in her serv- 
ice to humanity. She restores Clay to Margaret and her 
dream and Margaret's come true. 

As a by-plot comes the devotion of Bob to Delphine; 
her struggle between Minerva's wisdom and Venus' love, 
and her final surrender through luiimy Lou's efforts to 
Venus. Then there is Billy's eff'ort to master Browning 
in order to win Peggy's love. His failure to pass "exam- 
ination" finally ends in victory for the hard-worked stu- 
dent and Peggy decides that Billy and football are far 
better than Billy and Browning. 



CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. 

Nan, in the first act, is almost anarchistic in her fierce 
and bitter denunciation of Norton and of the condition 
of the factory people. As Clay's ''little comrade" she 
softens and shows in her very expression her love for him. 
In her first act scene with Margaret she is sweet and 
gentle, especially at the last, when she reveals the craving 
for beauty, love and friendship. In the second act, with 
Norton, she is the self-possessed, unemotional business 
woman with only one passionate outburst, when referring 
to the people's sufferings. In the same act, with Clay, 
when she believes he is telling of his love for her, she is 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 7 

transfigured by this very love, and when she reaHzes her 
mistake, she is not conventional enough to hide her emo- 
tion. Later, with Margaret, she is bitter, unrestrained and 
yet pathetic in her longing for what is denied her. In the 
third act she shows a new dignity, a new beauty of spirit, 
gained by her struggle with her self and her victory over 
selfishness. Her nobility in dealing with Mr. Norton, her 
sweetness and loyalty to Margaret and Clay, are dominant ; 
she shows in her very attitude toward life that her dream 
has come true. In the first and second acts she wears a 
plain shirtwaist suit, and in the last, a white gown of 
some kind. 

Margaret — Sweet, bright and winning in her way, with 
a keen sense of humor; always tender with Bob; loyal 
even when denounced by Nan, and womanly through it all. 
In the first act she w^ears a plain street suit and hat ; in 
the second, a simple afternoon gown, and in the third,, 
a simple evening gown. 

Delphine — At first absolutely dictatorial in her views 
upon Woman's Rights ; positive in her assertions. Later, 
in direct contrast, quite feminine in her jealousy of Doris, 
her desire to keep Bob's love, her decision that she doesn't 
want a career. Her afternoon and evening gowns are 
elaborate. 

Peggy — Very pedantic and exacting while coaching Billy ; 
in the last act just a natural, simple girl without the super- 
ficial veneer of cleverness which she has assumed. She 
wears simple afternoon and evening gowns. 

Mrs. Jenkins — Typical, good-natured, good-hearted 
landlady, with the bump of curiosity abnormally devel- 
oped ; gossipy. She wears a gingham dress and apron with 
a braid of hair quite different in color from her own. 

Doris — Full of life, not standing on ceremony, not co- 
quettish in the slightest degree, a bit slangy and unconven- 
tional, wholly unaffected in whatever she does. She wears 
a simple gown, motor coat, cap, veil, etc., in second act; 
torn evening gown in the last. 

Miss Louisa — Typical old maid, sarcastic, devoid of 



8 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

sentiment, matter-of-fact. She wears a prim bonnet and 
old-fashioned coat. 

Florabel — Talks in high attected voice ; dreamy. Wears 
a loose, flowing, esthetic gown ; flower in hair. 

Miss Biddle — Mannish in appearance and action. Wears 
strict tailored suit, stiit collar, man's soft hat. 

Angelina Maud — Pert and saucy; chews gum. Only 
when she talks to Margaret about being a lady does she 
show the wistful desire for what she hasn't known. Wears 
a plain gingham dress; hair in pig-tails. 

Emmy Lou — Sweetly childish in her devotion to Bob 
and her desire to win the princess for him. Wears simple 
white dresses with ribbon sashes; bow on her hair. 

XoRA — Speaks with Irish brogue. Wears black dress, 
white cap and apron. 

Mrs. Allaire — Extremely fashionable, typical woman 
of the world. Wears elaborate, trained, afternoon gown ; 
carries lorgnette. 

Gordon — Enthusiastic in his sociological views ; broth- 
erly and protective in his attitude toward Xan : chivalrous in 
his love for Margaret ; determined and manly in his deal- 
ings with X^orton. Wears dark suit and sweater in first 
act ; plain business suit in second ; evening clothes in third. 

Bob — Happy, go-lucky: serious in his conversations. 
Wears street suit in first and second acts ; evening clothes 
in third. 

Billy — Large, slow, good-natured fellow, dejectedly 
earnest in his eifort to learn Browning. In contrast to his 
melancholy over-study is his enthusiasm when talking of 
athletics to Doris. Wears afternoon suit in second act, 
evening clothes in third. 

LfjRD Algernon— Blandly childlike, afifable, stilted in 
conversation ;. slow to understand. Extreme afternoon suit 
in the second act, monocle, etc. ; evening suit in third. 

Xorton — Brusque, stem and harsh. Wears afternoon 
suit in second act; evening clothes in third. 

Jack — Typical reporter, quick, aggressive, up-to-date. 
Wears plain business suit. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I — Coarse lace curtains for windows, worn rug on 
floor, three rocking- chairs brightly re-upholstered, small 
stool, old-fashioned sofa, table with gay cover, phono- 
graph, radiator, coal bucket, tongs, etc., fender, wood and 
coal for grate, picture for wall. Book for Xan. Paper for 
Gordon. Ice cream freezer for Mrs. Jenkins. Gum, pack- 
age, letter for Angelina Maud. Paper and camera for Jack. 
\'ariou5 bundles for Miss Louisa, including large box with 
broken vase, box of writing paper, coat hanger, hair re- 
ceiver, motto with "God Bless Our Home." Poem for 
Florabel. Handkerchief for Gordon. 

Act II — Artistic portieres, rugs, pictures, etc.. four 
chairs, stool, hall-tree, lamp and books for table, pillows 
for sofa, statues of Minerva and \'enus, piano, stool and 
music, palms, telephone for desk, capable of being rung 
off stage. Dusting cloth for Xora. Motor wraps for Doris. 
Lorgnette for Mrs. Allaire. Memorandum book for Lord 
Algernon. Pack of letters for Xan. Letter and memoran- 
diun book for desk drawer. 

Act III — Pretty bamboo or wicker furniture, table, large 
chair, stool and sofa, large bowl of flowers for table. A 
larger table with punch bowl. Palms in great abundance, 
statues of Venus and Miner\-a. Tray and punch glasses 
for X'ora. Book for Billy. Small book and large silk 
handkerchief for Lord Algernon. Bunch of flowers for 
Emmy Lou. Letter and memorandum for X'orton. Letter 
and memorandum for X'an. Match for Gordon. 



10 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 



/ 



STAGE SETTING. 

ACT I. 

""WlndovJ ^Wlndo 

1 1 

Table 



Door 

,^<^ ^ Rocking 

C-^Sofa Chair 

Rocking p ° O Stool 

Chair Coal Grate 

Bucket O I -I 




In order to have action before the erate fire <;fi th^f th^ .„ r 
may catch the plaj- of expression, the bacL o he grate is fnfa^^^^^^^^^^^ 
Ihe play was successfully staged m this manner It may however' 

adi^afor on'Vf ' >' '''\''^ ^'"^^^- ^^ "ot convenient'io have a 
radiator on stage, it may be supposed to be behind a screen 



ACT II. 



f^^^T ^,-_H^-5^Han_r^ 



Desk Chair 



" T Q ^^=" 

Table 





ACT I] 



Door 



Palms- 



Table Q 

stool ^>>J 



Sofa 

Venus O 



STAGE DIRECTIOxNS. 

r'd:^ 5!e;l^f^effdri^c ^i 'e' 1^! -^'-■' '-r^'P 
upper entrance, etc.; D F door in fl\ ' ^'"'^ entrance; U. E., 
the back of the stage- up "sta^? .w. J' ""' 'u^"^r '''',"""'^ ^^^^^^ 
stage, near footlights' The actnr ^"^ ^5' footlights; down 

audience. ^ ^^^°^ ^^ supposed to be facing the 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 



Act I. 

Scene: Sitting room in Mrs. Jenkins' boarding house. 
Full stage. Windows R. and L. of C. in F. with coarse lace 
curtains. Practical doors at R. U. E. and L. U. E., the first 
leading to the hall, the second to the hack of the house. 
Table at L. of C. near F. with phonograph. Steam radiator 
at L. 2 E. Grate with fender down C. at edge of stage. 
Coal and wood inside with electric lights in red bulbs to 
simulate fire. Bucket of coal, shovel, etc., R. of grate. 
Sofa R. of C. Rocking chairs in front of grate, dozvn R. 
and down L. A stool a little L. of grate. Bright carpet on 
floor. Picture of peculiar looking inan above table. 

At rise, stage is ivell illuminated since it is afternoon. 
Discovered, Nan in chair before the grate, reading. After 
a few moments she closes her hook, rises and turns to 
leave the room. 

Enter Gordon, R. U. E. 

Gordon {coming down C). Nan, just a moment. 

Nan {standing at back of chair). What's wrong in the 
works, Gordon? 

Gordon {going dozvn L. to rocking chair). Everything. 
I've done my best but I've failed. I've — 

Nan. Never. How dare you say it, when so much de- 
pends upon your courage, your foresight, your perse- 
verance — 

Gordon. Then I won't say it. But I can't see my way — 
I— 

'^Ai^ {excitedly). The people are despondent ? Suffering? 

Gordon. Despondent to the point of desperation, suf- 
fering from the rank lodging-houses, poor food, low 
wages — 

Nan. And complaining? 

11 



12 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Gordon. Oh! They're far beyond complaining; they're 
threatening. You know what the next step will be— a 
strike. And after the strike— destruction. 

Nan (eagerly). And Norton? Is there any way to reach 
the man — to threaten him? 

Gordon. None. I have plead the cause as best I can; 
I have threatened him with the certainty of the impend- 
ing strike ; I have told him again and again of the wretched 
tenements, the half-starved children, the over-worked par- 
ents, but to no avail. The man has no heart. His people 
are no more than animated machines to grind out the dol- 
lars which he spends so freely. (Pulling out a paper and 
crossing to Nan). Look! The account of his daughter's 
ball, his daughter's charities, while the people of his own 
factory are housed like dogs in the tumble-down houses 
which he will not repair, are dying by inches in 'the poorly- 
lighted, damp-floored work rooms. Oh, I wonder that 
they live. I wonder that they endure — 

Nan (opening paper). Gordon, these people expect 
nothing more. They become used to poor clothing, un- 
couth manners. They live their litttle life from day to 
day with an occasional holiday, a moving picture show to 
make them smile. 

Gordon (striking hack of chair). Oh, the injustice of 
it! There must be help. Listen, Nan. I've begged and its 
failed; I've threatened and he's laughed. Only one chance 
remains. I must force him to yield. Will you help me? 
(Leans toward her.) 

Nan (quietly). As best I can. 

Gordon. Today he opens the big house at the end of 
the town, — a Christmas house-party ,^and he has requested 
a secretary, a private secretary, for the few weeks he may 
be there. Do you understand? 

Nan (thoughtfully). You mean that — 

Gordon. You must go. You're clever, Nan ; you're 
quick ; you're heart and soul for the cause. As secretary— 
oh, don't you see? You must discover some way to checK 
him, something by which we can make him come to terms. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 13 

Nan ( zeal king slozcly tozvard sofa). It's a mere chance. 
Gordon — a forlorn hope. 

Gordon. That may be, but in you're extremity we are 
not scorning mere chances ; we are relying even upon for- 
lorn hopes. Will you go? 

Nan {turning). I'll go. 

Gordon. I knew you would. Now this is all you have 
to work upon. Long ago Norton had a partner, a man 
who had no taste for business, who lived abroad and left 
the management of the factory to his friend. That he was 
impractical as he was trusting, was shown by the fact 
that at his death he made Norton sole administrator of 
his son's estate. This son, who has spent most of his life 
in Paris, w^as my friend in college, and though his income 
has been regularly received, he believes that there has not 
been fair play ; that in some way his interests have not 
been protected. It's for you to find the leak in the man- 
agement. 

Nan. But if I do not succeed ; if — 

Gordon. Nothing will be lost. You w^ill have given 
your time and energy ; but you are willing to do this, are 
you not? 

Nan (fiercely). Willing? Willing? If I could only make 
you understand how I hate the man ; how I would give 
myself to cause his ruin, to bring him to destruction, to 
disgrace. It's the cause of the people ; yes, but it's my 
own cause, my own pain, my own struggle. Oh, I wish 
it had been given me to live in the time of the vendetta, 
that I might have sworn to hunt out my enemy, to wound 
him and to kill him. 

Gordon (graz'ely). The desire of revenge is a danger- 
ous one, Nan ; a wicked one. You are too young to think 
of it. 

Nan (sitting, on sofa). Young? I w^as never young. I 
have lived a thousand years and all the griefs and hard- 
ships that should be waiting for me have already left their 
print. The beautiful things of life have never been mine; 
that happiness, frolic and lightheartedness that are a girl's 
rights, have passed me by. I am an old— old — 



14 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Gordon. Happiness cannot wholly be crowded out of 
one's life, Nan. Some time it must come your way. 

Nan. Shall I tell you why I hate this man? Why he is 
as truly my murderer as if he had plunged a cool, shining 
blade into my heart? Long ago, so long ago that I barely 
remember it, I had a home. There was plenty to eat, 
plenty to wear. By a quick stroke of fate, we, my younger 
brother and I, were left alone and friendless. I was put 
into the factory. Oh, how well I remember the shaking 
of the floor, the noise of the machinery, the smell of the 
oil, the tired, tired women ! 

Gordon. Don't talk of it. It's past and gone ; the mem- 
ory of it is a bitter one and — 

Nan. Don't stop me. I was quick, I was determined 
for better things and I made good. I was put in charge of 
the reports. 

Gordon {seating liimself in chair before grate). And 
then ? 

Nan. John, my brother, went into the factory. They 
put him into the machine shop. No planks on the wet, 
cold floor. The weeks passed. He grew pale; he had a 
racking cough. 

Gordon. And you went to Norton, I suppose. 

Nan. I went to him. I knew he was counted a char- 
itable man. I thought that his neglect of sanitary condi- 
tions must be due to ignorance. I went to him, I, the factory 
girl— 

Gordon. And he told you, I suppose, that he must put 
the business on a paying basis ; that he could spare no part 
of the profits for improvements. 

Nan. He told me that my brother was only one part 
of the whole and that there was no time for details; that 
he was giving John his living, his living, when each day 
brought him nearer death. (Rising.) Why do I go on 
with the story? You can guess the rest, and do you won- 
der that hatred has crowded out every other emotion that — 

Gordon (rising). Some deeds can never go unpun- 
ished. Retribution, retaliation, is inevitable. Oh, Nan, 
they called me a dreamer at college ; an impractical soci- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 15 

ologist ; but I have worked for my cause as others work 
for fame, for money. There must be some solution of the 
problem of capital and labor. There must be some way 
to aid the people, to help them. {Eagerly.) Will you help 
me. Nan? Will you try to make my dream come true? 

Nan. Oh, Gordon, in any way I can. In every way 
you'll let me. For I want your friendship more than any- 
thing else in the world. 

Gordon (crossing and taking her hands). Little com- 
rade! {Exit R. U. E. Nan sits thoughtfully in rocking 
chair before the fire.) 

Enter Margaret, R. U. E. 

Margaret (coming dozvn C). Merry Christmas, Nan! 
The weather says so, even if the calendar doesn't, and my 
spirits have gone down just as fast as the thermometer. 
Why, you could easily cover my courage with a Christmas 
sticker. 

Nan (turning). Mercury as low as that? Why, Marga- 
ret, what's caused the fall in temperature? 

Margaret (slozvly pidling off gloves). Just the merest 
trifle in the world. I've lost my job. Teaching school isn't 
especially lucrative at any time, but it's better than 
nothing. 

Nan. Losing one's job isn't necessarily fatal. Santa 
Claus may tuck a bigger, fatter one in the toe of your 
stocking. 

Margaret. I hardly believe that the attentions of Santa 
Claus this year will be so marked as to cause discussion. 
(Pauses, taking off her hat.) Nan, I think I must have 
been born on Friday. Isn't "Friday for losses?" (Goes 
to table at L. of C. in F. and lays hat and coat upon it.) 
First, the Byrneses lose the little money with which Provi- 
dence has endowed them ; then, strange to say, they lose 
their friends. Did I say, friends, Nan? Then, away goes 
their social prestige, and as a fitting climax Bob becomes 
bookkeeper in the factory and Fate plumps us down in 
this thriving metropolis. Funny, isn't it? Life's a huge 



16 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

joke, if you only stop to think about it. (Comes liozcu C. 
to stool L. of grate. ) 

X.AN. Margaret, dear, I am so sorry. Don't lose cour- 
age, for — 

M.A.RG-\RET (taking stool and placing it by X.\x's chair). 
Lose courage? Why, I keep such a stift upper lip that my 
front teeth are in danger of being loosened. Don't worry 
about me (hesitates), but it is hard, it is hard, and ail 
the old memories, the old desires, that won't go away, arc 
so tightly bottled up that sometimes the cork just has to 
fly out. {Seating herself.) You don't mind my spilling 
over you, do you? 

X.\x {putting arm about shoulder). Not a bit of it. 

Marg.\ret (^rra;;ii7y). Christmas at home, the light, 
the frolic, the gifts, the joy of it all. Do you wonder that 
I miss it? Fm human, very human, and there's a lump ir. 
my throat that I can't swallow. I'm homesick. Xan ; I'm 
homesick : but I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cr\' — 

X.\x. '^ v'hy should you cry, when Bob is with you? 
\\'hy, if I had a brother, some one my \ery own, I could 
endure anything. I could be brave under any misfortune. 
Id count it the sweetest thing that life could offer. 

Margaret. Dear Bob ; he's so brave and cheerful. Why. 
Xan, until now he's never had any responsibility. He's 
whistled his way through life with never a care. Oh, 
we're not afraid of the troubles, if we're together, for I 
hope we're thoroughbreds enough to meet them fearlessly. 
{Soberly.) It's only memor}* that hurts. 

Xax {softly). And only memory that heals. 

Margaret. Riches take wings : friends fly away, but 
there's one thing that never leaves you, and that's love. 

Xax. Love has wings, they tell us. 

Margaret. But he doesn't use them for flying, Xan. 
They simply fan the flame. {After a pause. ) I am proving 
pretty much of a coward after all. I've plaved a comedy 
part so long that a bit of tragedv undoes me Therefore. 
I'll smile and make other people smile, for even if I ani 
taniished inside. I want the outside to be bright and shiny. 

Nax. What a darlin? bit of nonsense vou are. Provi- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 17 

dence never intended you to work. You were made to 
hold your hands — 

Margaret. Xo, I wasn't. Em too lazy, and any way 
( kneeling and thrusting her hand into Xax'sj it's nicer 
to have them held. Oh, I've been so busy thinking of my 
losses, that Eve forgotten to count my tinds. For Eve 
found the satisfaction of self-reliance and independence. 
E've learned that there is more to life than fun on the 
side lines ; that there are people outside your own circle 
worth knowing. Best of all, Xan, Eve found you. 

Xax. But, Margaret, Em so different from the other 
girls. I- 

Margaret, \oure you: that s all. 

Xan {putting arins around her). And E have only my 
friendship to give you. 

Margaret. Only your friendship? {She leans her head 
on X'ax's shoulder.) ^M^y, X'an, friendship is the greatest 
gift in the world! 

Mrs. Jenkins ( off stage R., is heard singing ) — 
Count your blessings, name them one by one. 
Count your blessings, see what ( jod hath done. 
Count your blessings, 
X^'ame them one by one. 

{Girls laugh together.) 

Enter Mrs. Jenkins, R. U. E., carrying ice cream 
freezer. 

Margaret. Mrs. Jenkins, you're an old mind reader. 
How did you know I was counting my blessings? I just 
reached the nine hundred and ninety-ninth, when along 
you came and spoiled it all. 

Mrs. Jenkins {at hack of sofa). Law, child, if we 
stopped to put down every blessing the good Lord sent 
us, we'd be mighty busy. Blessings are just like the pretty 
little daisies under our feet. We never look at them, we're 
so bent on grabbing American Beauties. 

^L\rgaret (rising and sitting on an arm of X'an's 
chair). Then the thorns prick us, don't they? \\\\\ you 
-cold me verv much if I tell vou that this verv dav I've 



18 " THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

been wondering if there is any corner of the whole world 
specially fitted for me? Why, I've been so very desperate 
that the only refuge seemed {slyly) to get married! 

Mrs. Jenkins {setting down freezer and standing with 
arms akimbo). To get married! Law, child, I'd just as 
soon you'd be a foreign missionary; a little rather, for a 
savage doesn't pretend to be anything more than a savage, 
and you know just what you're getting, while a husband — 
{shrugs her shoulders, catches up freezer, crosses back 
of chair to L., puts freezer absent mindedly on radiator, 
singing) — 

In the sweet by and by 

We shall meet on that beautiful shore. 

Margaret {turning head). Maybe we will and maybe 
we won't. 

Mrs. Jenkins {sitting in rocking chair down L.). And 
I'm thinking, Miss Margaret, though it ain't orthodox and 
though it ain't right, that it's natural for a person to steer 
for the place where all his acquaintances are likely to be. 
Even with golden pavements, shiny wings and sounding 
harps, you get mighty lonesome if your friends take a 
toboggan slide to — to — {hesitates). 

Nan {laughingly). The other shore. 

Mrs. Jenkins {in relieved tone). The other shore, then. 
I can see you'd want to hitch on. Just think, though, of all 
the sufferin' and all the everlastin' fire, with never any — 
{Iceman off L. hollers ''Ice!" Mrs. Jenkins jumping up). 
Land sakes ! How that startled me. You might as well 
kill a person as to scare them to death. {Calls.) Angelina 
Maud! Angelina M-a-u-d ! Now where can that child be! 

Enter Angelina Maud^ L. U. E. 

Angelina Maud {coming down L. to Mr. Jenkins). 
Wha' do you want, Ma? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, how often have I asked 
you to call me Dearest, like little Lord Fauntleroy did his 
mother? 

Angelina Maud. I've tried to, honest I have, but some- 
how it sticks in my throat and I just can't get it out. Any- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 19 

way, his mother didn't take off her hair at night, and her 
teeth belonged to her, and — 

Mrs. Jenkins (hastily). Angelina Maud, go give the 
iceman a ticket this very minute. Do you hear me? And 
remember that children should be seen and not heard. 
(Exit Angelina Maud, R. U. E. Mrs. Jenkins, resting 
herself in rocking chair). The bringin' up of the modern 
child is a great responsibility. I'm afraid I'll have to keep 
a tight rein on Angelina Maud. She shan't never learn to 
dance — ■ 

Margaret. Oh, why? 

Mrs. Jenkins {pounding chair). Dancing is the bait of 
Satan himself. It's the corruptin' influence of youth. It's — 

Margaret. Nonsense. It's as natural for a girl to dance 
as it is for a bird to sing. Why, youth without dancing 
would be springtime without flowers. 

Mrs. Jenkins {primly). Angelina Maud shan't never 
learn to play cards. I'd just as soon see her monkey'n 
with fire and brimstone as them little black and red spots — 

Nan. Why, life is just a game of cards ; hearts are 
trumps for some of us, diamonds fall to the lot of others 
and few of us may hold the joker. But our success de- 
pends upon the discard and upon the clever way we play 
our hands. 

Mrs. Jenkins. And what's more, Angelina Maud shan't 
never go to a play, she shan't never see play actin' people. 
Them that writes plays, them that gives plays, are hand 
in hand with the devil. 

Margaret. But Shakespeare says *'A11 the world's a 
stage" — 

Mrs. Jenkins. Shakespeare or no Shakespeare — 

Enter Angelina Maud, R. U. E. 

Angelina Maud {perching on table at L. of C. in F.). 
Woman to see you. 

Mrs. Jenkins {flustered). And me not fixed. Did you 
tell her to sit down and make herself to home? (Rises 
hastily). 

Angelina Maud. She's a woman with a history ! 



20 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Mrs. Jenkins (angrily). A woman with a history. 
(Crosses to Angelina Maud.) And you let her in my 
house, my perfectly respectable house? Angelina Maud, 
for a child that pretends to have common sense, you — 
(Shakes her.) 

Angelina Maud. Leave me go. 1 ain't done nothin'. 
She said it's Child's History of England and that you might 
get it for me. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Now ain't that just like them book 
agents? Angelina Maud, you tell her I ain't to home — 

Angelina Maud (slozvly getting off table). But I said 
you was. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Then say you've changed your mind. 
(Goes to windozu R. of C. in F.) Go on, now. {Exit 
Angelina Maud, R. U. E.) My sakes — {looking out of 
zvindozv). If there ain't the trunks goin' to the liouse 
party! (Turning.) Ain't you heard about the Christmas 
house-party that old Norton is going to give at his old 
house way out on the edge of town? 

Margaret (rising). The Nortons ! A party! Here! Oh, 
do you mean it? Do you mean it? 

Mrs. Jenkins (earning dozvn R. to sofa and seating 
herself). Why, Miss Margaret, what ails you? Anyone 
would think you knew him ! 

Margaret (going to zvindozv R. of C. in F.). Know 
him ! Why, his daughter has been my dearest friend for 
years — the one true friend who stayed when all the world 
went out. Know him! Why, he gave Bob this position, 
when our trouble came. We owe him everything. 

Nan (turning). Margaret, do you mean that he's your 
friend; this enemy of the factory people, this — 

Margaret. Nan, Nan, don't look so. He may be all 
these dreadful things, but he's been good to us. A house- 
party ! And Christmas — oh, I wish they'd ask me ! I thought 
I'd put the old life behind me, but I want to go, I want to 
go — (looks out zvindozv.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. I'd just as soon shut you up with the 
world, the flesh and the devil as to let you go to that 
house-party. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 21 

Margaret (turning and coming down C. to back of 
Nan's chair). But I love the world, I love the flesh and 
even if I don't love the devil, he's sometimes alluring. 
Enter Angelina Maud^ R. U. E., with package. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, what are you doin'? 

Angelina Maud. Nothin', just bringin' in a package for 
Miss Biddle. 

Mrs. Jenkins (eagerly). What's in it? 

Angelina Maud (going slowly tozvard table L. of C. 
in F. feeling bundle). Dunno, 'tain't hard — 'tain't soft. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, stop pryin' into other 
people's affairs. A real lady never is curious about things 
that don't concern her. 

Angelina Maud (scornfully). Hugh! Ladies don't 
meddle — don't gossip ; don't snoop. (Puts package on table.) 
Then most of us ain't ladies; we're just women. (Exit 
L. U. E.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. As I was saying. (Hesitates.) Now I 
wonder if that bundle does really belong to Miss Biddle. 
Angelina Maud might have made a mistake. (Rises, 
crosses to table and picks it up.) It sure don't weigh 
much ; feels just like lingery. Now, between you and I, 
Miss Biddle does spend a lot on frill-fralls. You wouldn't 
think of it, would you, and her such an old maid. (Puts 
it on table and moves sloivly away.) Maybe now, Angelina 
Maud got the string off and I'd hate her to think we'd been 
curious enough — (Picks it up, tears corner open.) I don't 
believe it's lingery. It's more like — 

Enter Angelina Maud, L. U. E. Mrs. Jenkins drops 
bundle. Margaret seats herself on sofa down R. 

Angelina Maud. Miss Mullins is cold and wants to 
know if she can have more heat? 

Mrs. Jenkins (haughtily). More heat; indeed not, 
when coal's goin' up every day. More heat ! Well, I never. 
Angelina Maud, you go hit those steam pipes and she'll 
think the steam's comin' up. (Angelina Maud wrath- 
fully kicks radiator. Exits L. U. E.) That there woman 
is plain spoiled. People want a lot for their money and 



22 THE DREA.M THAT CAME TRUE. 

there's no way to please 'em. Now think of her com- 
plainin' about bem' cold when she has all the comforts of 
a regular home, plenty to eat, steam heat, never no dis- 
turbin' noises. {Someone off stage shigs scale iwisily.) 
Perfect peace and quiet. [Scale again.) Xow, there's that 
woman broke loose again. (Scale again.) Did you ever 
hear anything like that? She just grabs them notes and 
chokes the very life out of them. 

Enter Angelina Maud, L. U. E. 

Angelina Maud. Xow if you're goin' to send me to 
tell her to shut up, I just ain't goin' to do it. {Stands by 
table, pulls gum.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, don't talk to mother in 
that tone of voice. I don't want you to have no words with 
her. Remember, you're a lady. Listen to me. Out in the 
pantry T've fixed a plate with a piece of fruit cake. Take 
it to her with Mother's compliments and I'll warrant that'll 
keep her mouth shut for a spell. If it has the effect I'm 
plannin' she'll be hollerin' in another key before long. 
Don't stand there with your mouth wide open, Angelina 
Maud. You could swallow that there phonygraph with- 
out scratchin' your teeth. 

Nan (rising). Let the child rest. I'm going to my 
room anyway, so I'll take it. If the cake doesn't stop the 
machinery, why — 

Margaret (laughing). I'll bring some more. (Exit 
L. U. E.) 

Enter Jack and Miss Louisa, R. U. E., loaded zi'ith 
packages. Angelina Maud seats herself on table. 

Jack (coming dozen C, supporting Miss Louisa). 
Here's your Evening Tattler! (Waves paper.) Latest 
edition! Awful massacre in down-town department store. 
Many wounded in the fray. (Mrs. Jenkins grabs paper 
and seats herself in roeking chair down R.) Hi. there, 
aid to the injured! Get Miss Louisa a pillow and some 
smelling salts. (Margaret rises, helps Miss Louisa to 
rocking chair in front of grate.) I rescued her from the 
bargain booth, where the six hundred were making a 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 23 

noble charge upon the articles marked down from a dollar 
to ninety-nine cents. 

Margaret {seating herself on sofa). My, but you look 
like Santa Claus ! 

Jack {piling bundles around Miss Louisa.) If Santa 
Claus had been cussed in as many dili'erent languages as 
we have been, I think the old fellow would give up his job. 

Miss Louisa {rocking violently). Vvn most tuckered 
out. If Christmas came more than once a year, mighty 
few people would live to see another. 

Jack {taking small kodak from pocket). Just a mo- 
ment, please. Alay I ask you to stand as you are until 
I take a time exposure ? A fitting illustration of my article 
on "The Christmas Spirit." (Miss "Lov is a- stands limply. 
Jack snaps camera, puts it in his pocket, seats himself in 
front of grate.) 

Miss Louisa {dropping in chair). You can talk of it 
if you want, about the loving thoughts and tender wishes 
that go into Christmas gifts, but I'm telling you that if 
the real truth came out, you'd hear a mighty different 
story. {Scornfully.) Loving thoughts, indeed; it's such a 
blessed relief to get the last bit of tissue paper and red 
ribbon out of the house — that — 

Margaret. Oh, but you lose the true meaning of the 
day. It isn't the gift but the thought. 

Miss Louisa. That's just where you're wrong. People 
don't thank you to send them thoughts and picture cards 
iind booklets and nothing else. {Turning head.) By the 
way, Mrs. Jenkins, did a package come for me? 

Mrs. Jenkins {rocking z'iolentiy and reading paper). 
I didn't see any. 

Miss Louisa. Then it didn't come. That's just like 
Aunt Eliza, waiting till the last minute. Like as not I 
won't get her present till Christmas Day. 

Jack (putting coal on the fire). And why, fair damsel, 
in distress, are you opposed to receiving the token of love 
on the 25th of December? 

Miss Louisa. I ain't got no sentimental ideas about 
Christmas. Now if Aunt Eliza has sent me some trash. 



24 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

do you think I'm going to let her have something worth 
while? Not much. 

Mrs. Jenkins {peering curiously over paper). What is 
the long, big package? It looks like a doll. Now if you've 
gone and bought Angelina Maud a doll — 

Miss Louisa. Angelina Maud. 1 guess not. I'd like to 
get her a muzzle. 

Mrs. Jenkins {ivith dignity). Angelina Maud, darlin', 
leave the room. You shan't have your feelin's hurt. You're 
Mother's little lady, even if — 

Angelina Maud (jumping off table and sitting on floor 
L. of Miss Louisa). Oh, ]\Ia, I ain't got no feelin's. I've 
been raised in a boarding house. 

Miss Louisa. Now, Mrs. Jenkins, you needn't fly off 
the handle like that. I'm not blaming the child ; land sakes, 
no; she comes by it naturally. (Mrs. Jenkins turns chair 
around, still reads.) 

Margaret (hastily). Oh, let's open the package and 
see the pretty things. 

Miss Louisa (unwrapping package). I'm downright 
proud of this. It's for Cousin Jennie Johnson. She's the 
rich one in the family and I always send her something 
nice. (Mrs. Jenkins looks around, jerks head hack 
quickly.) 

Margaret {leaning forward). Oh, it's a vase, and such 
a ])retty one. Why, it's broken. 

Miss Louisa. Of course it's broken. I bought it that 
way. It's got to go a long distance and she'll think it was 
smashed on the road. 

Angelina Maud. Hully gee ! Ain't you the brainy one ! 

Mrs. Jenkins (turning head). Angelina Maud, be very 
careful how you talk, promiscuous like. You can't be too 
l^articular about them you converse with. 

Miss Louisa (unwrapping another and holding up a 
fancy box of paper.) Now, this here box of "paper's 
right fancy like, and if I do say it, the one who gets it 
will think she's right lucky. Of course the real bottom 
is this high up (measuring), so it don't take much paper 
to fill it. Swell, ain't it?' 



THE DREA^'^THAT CAME TRUE. 25 

Jack. Simply out of sight. 

Miss Louisa {holding up coat hanger). This coat 
hanger is for Uncle Peter. He ain't never had more than 
one coat to his name, but that ain't none of my business. 
And this little hair receiver (holding up same) is for 
Aunt Amelia. She's worn a wig for years, but I reckon 
false hair has to come out sometimes. 

Jack. It sure has to come off. (Angelina Maud 
laughs shrilly, points finger at Mrs. Jenkins, wJio glares 
at her.) 

Miss Louisa. Cousin Rachel Simpson's just divorced 
from her husband, so it was right hard getting her a pres- 
ent. I finally settled on something ornamental. Ain't this 
too sweet for anything? And only thirty-five cents. (Holds 
up motto, ''God Bless Our Home.") 

Angelina Maud. Ma, I'm going to get you one just like 
it to hang over Pa's picture. (Points to picture above 
table.) . 

Mrs. Jenkins (turning chair around). Angelina Maud, 
don't let nobody think that your mother is a divorced lady. 
Your pa died in a perfectly legal fashion and — 

Enter Floracel, R. U. E. 

Florabel (at door). Dear Mrs. Jenkins, can the house 
be a little more quiet ? I am composing a little sonnet upon 
"Memory," and the spirit of the place is not in harmony 
with mine. 

Miss Louisa (turning). Come in, Florabel Mullins, and 
stop that nonsense. Poetry, indeed. Tommyrot ! 

Mrs. Jenkins (resuming her reading). Poetry broke 
loose in our family once, but we cured it by big doses of 
quinine and cod liver oil. 

Florabel (coming dozvn C). Oh, I don't see how Eliza- 
beth Barrett Browning and Edgar Allan Poe ever stood their 
poetic temperaments. Mine is simply killing me. 

Miss Louisa (sniffing). Temperature, indeed! I don't 
see why anybody who writes poetry should have any more 
temperature than other people. 

Jack. Due to the hot stuff they give us. 



26 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Mrs. Jenkins (rising). If you have any temperature, 
you're going right to bed. I ain't going to run the risk of 
no contagious disease in my house. Florabel Muhins, let 
me feel your pulse. {Crosses to her.) 

Florabel. Oh, you don't understand. You can't. Your 
aura is so different. 

Angelina Maud. What's an aura, INIa? 

Mrs. Jenkins. I don't know exactly, but it's something 
that belongs to a person that ain't got no backbone. 
(Crosses back to L and goes dozen to rocking chair.) 

Florabel. An aura is a surrounding vapor of a spiritual 
nature. If our thoughts are gloomy, the rays are black; 
if we are ambitious, they are orange ; if we are angry, 
they are purple. 

Mrs. Jenkins (seating herself). Fshaw ! I don't have 
to give forth no purple rays to show when Em mad. 

Florabel (crossing back of sofa). W'ould that each 
one of us could emit red and white rays, emblematic of all 
the virtues. 

Jack. \\'ould that my boss would see fit to emit a ten- 
dollar raise. 

Florabel (producing paper). My sonnet is upon 
Memory. 

Mrs. Jenkins (reading paper). Well, go on and read it. 

Florabel {coming doicn R. to front of stage). Oh, 
don't coax. You know how sordid it is to advertise one's 
own work. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Em not coaxing. I know we've got to 
listen to it sometime and we might as well have it out of 
the way. 

Miss Louisa (rising). Well, something else is going to 
get out of the way before that sonnet is read. Eve had 
a very-trying day and listening to that stuff would just fin- 
ish me up. Help me gather up my things, somebody. I'm 
going, yes, I'm going, and- (sarcasticallv) Merry Christmas ! 
(Margaret picks up bundles and follozvs Miss Louisa 
from room, R. U. E.) 

Florabel (reads) — 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 27 

Long ago we met — like ships at sea. 
Can you then forget? Oh, mystery, 
Let now be as then — your Hps are cold. 
Love me once again — love as of old. 
Ah, the fleeting years, sorrow each brings 
Sunshine and its tears — tears idle things. 
{Long pause.) 
Jack. Shrieks of silence! 
Angelina Maud. It ain't got no sense, is it? 
Mrs. Jenkins {still reading). Land sakes, child; I 
didn't pay no attention. 

Florabel {turning). I shall again seek the solitude of 
my room. Art is for the few, and the task of elevating 
the masses is a liopelcss one. 

Jack {risincj- and taking camera). Tarry a moment, fair 
poetess. (Florabel faces him.) You have given to the 
world a sonnet of six lines, something hitherto unknown. 
J lumanity should be apprised of this fact. Will you re- 
main in that pose a moment, with the pale cast of thought 
upon your brow and the fire of inspiration in your pro- 
phetic eyes? {Snaps camera and puts it in pocket.) Thank 
you! {Exit Florabel, R. U. E. Jack, pulling, Angelina 
Maud tip from the floor). Angel child, we've had enough 
food for thought. Let's hie us to the pantry and minister to 
our carnal appetities. {Exit Angelina Maud, L. U. E.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Law, Mr. Jack, you'll have some dread- 
ful stomach trouble eating between meals as you do. 

Jack {at R. U . E.). The only stomach trouble Fll ever 
have will be lack of somethino- to put into it. {Turns sud- 
denly and collides zvith Miss Biddle.) I beg your pardon; 

I do, I do. _ , \^ _^ ^ ^^ _ 

Enter Miss Biddle, R. U. E. 

Miss Biddle {angrily). How dare you be so familiar? 
How dare you put your arm around me? 

Jack. Heavens, woman, you don't think it was inten- 
tional? 

Miss Biddle. Impertinent creature ! Insolent viper ! 
{With increasing scorn.) Man — man — man! {Marches 
angrily down R, to sofa.) 



28 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

JACK. Yes and mighty glad to be the original article 
and not a poor imitation. It isn't the first time I've col- 
lided with woman suffrage and it won't be the last. (Pro- 
duces camera.) Ah, that's good. That Hail the Conquer- 
ing Hero expression. Head a little higher, please. Don't 
smile; it's too feminine. Ah, the very thing to accompany 
my article "The Female and the Ballot." (Snaps camera.) 
Thank you. (E,vit R. U. E.) 

Miss Biddle. Mrs. Johnson-Jones-Jenkins, or whatever 
your abominable name is, if I were not here in the inter- , 
est of the woman movement, I should depart. 

Mrs. Jenkins (rising and moving tozvard her). Well, 
there'll be another kind of woman movement if you're not 
careful, and it'll be to another tune. 

Miss Biddle (crossing to table). To be thrown into con- 
tact with such a creature as that ma)i. 

Mrs. Jenkins (folloicing her). You butted in yourself. 
^^'hy didn't you look where you were going? 

Miss Biddle (angrily, as she picks up package). Who 
has tampered with my package? That diabolical child of 
yours, I suppose. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Fll be talked to by no female suft'ra- 
gettes. Tampering with your package, indeed ! Me and 
Angelina Maud are perfect ladies. I'll have you to know, 
even if some other people ain't. We are interested in our 
boarders. 

Miss Biddle {holding up package). To this extent, I 
presume. Perhaps you can also read between the lines in 
my letters. 

Mrs. Jenkins (shaking her fist). Take that back, Me- 
hitabel Biddle, on the very spot you're standing. 

]\Iiss Biddle. Take zvhat back ? The truth ^ Allow me to 
pass. (Pushes by her and goes out R. U. E.) 

Mrs. Jenkins (following her slozvly). I'll allow you to 
pass out that front door if you're not careful my lady. 
Impudent to me, and me the head of the only steam-heated 
boarding-house in the town? Woman suffrage indeed! 
It ain't so much the man tliat makes woman foolish; it's 
the lack of him! (Exit R. U. E.) 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. . 29 

After several minutes, enter Margari:t. R. U. E. 

Margaret {looking around). J)ear inc, 1)atlleriel<l de- 
serted. {Seats herself on sofa.) 

Enter Angelina Maud^ L. U. E. 

Angelina Maud. Miss Margaret, I've been looking 
most every place for you. 

Margaret. From cellar to garret. Too bad, Kiddie. 
What can I do for you? 

Angelina Maud (holding out letter). Oh, it's just a 
letter! Mr. Jack forgot to give it to you. 

Margaret { reaching for it). Just a letter! Oh, Ange- 
lina Maud, if you're ever miles and miles away from 
home, it will never be just a letter. You'll be so happy to 
see the postmark that you'll want to sing the doxology. 

Angelina Maud. I don't believe I'd feel that way. A 
boarding house ain't a home, exactly, is it? (Sits on arm 
of chair before grate.) 

Margaret. Why, home, little girl, is whatever you make 
it. Do you mind if I open this? (Angelina Maud shakes 
head. Margaret opens letter.) 

Angelina Maud {after pause). Miss Margaret? 

Margaret. Yes. 

Angelina Maud. Is it very hard to be a lady? 

Margaret, ^^*hy, it's the easiest thing in the world. 
You don't need fine clothes, dear, to be a lady ; nor must 
you live in a beautiful home. It's just giving the sweetness 
and goodness in you to everybody around you. It's loving 
the beautiful things in life and hating all that is wrong 
and selfish. 

Angelina Maud. That don't sound very easy to me. I 
ain't never had no encouragement along them lines. Ma's 
done her best, I reckon, but running a boarding-house 
don't leave no time to just think of beautiful things 
(Goes to door R. U. E. and stops.) Miss Margaret? 

Margaret (turning). Yes. 

Angelina Maud. So you think I can be a lady? 

Margaret. I'm sure of it, dear. 

Angelina Maud. I think I understand now. It ain't pre- 



30 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

tending, is il ? It's the real stuff and my, it's way inside 
von. Being a lady, Miss Margaret, is l)eing just like you. 
'( /:xit R. U. li.) 

MAR(i.\Ki:T. just like me. Poor little soul! It's the Hrst 
time in my careless career that I've erer been held up as 
a shining light. Just like me! (Reads Jicr letter, lets it 
fall, hides her face in her arms.) 

Enter Gordon, R. U. E. 

Gordon (coming to her). Margaret? 

Margaret (looking up quickly). Wrong cue, Gordon. 
You should wait for the leading lady's rippling laugh and 
not find her dissolved in tears. 

Gordon [leaning over her). What's happened? Bad 
news? 

Margaret. Why, everything really bad has already 
happened [suddenly) unless Bob — 

Gordon. Bob's all right. I left him flirting outr-age- 
ously wnth the stenographer. 

Margaret (laughing). Funny old Bob. He doesn't 
mean it for flirting ; it's merely his altruism. 

Gordon. He's scattering sunshine, I presume. 

Margaret. Exactly. Oh, I'm sorry you found me this 
way. (Holds out letter.) It's a letter that's caused me 
this — a letter from the old crowd. They had a dinner" and 
they talked of me and toasted me, and, oh, Gordon, I wish 
I were not so horribly human for I'm young and it isn't 
fair that I should miss it all. It isn't fair. (Hides her face 
on back of sofa.) 

Gordon (resting his hand on her shoulder). Oh. Mar- 
garet, if I only — 

Margaret (turning). Lend me your handkerchief; I've 
lost mine. (He offers handkerchief. She takes it and ivipes 
eyes.) Gordon Clay, cross your heart and hope to die if 
you ever tell I've been playing coward. I was laughing 
when you came in, wasn't I? [Rises and confronts him.) 

Gordon. Simply rolling in mirth. 

Margaret. My eyes weren't a bit watery, were they? 



THE DREAM Til AT CAME TRUE. 31 

Gordon {softly). No stars could be any brighter or 
fairer to me. 

Margaret, ^'ou needn't put it too strongly. My nose 
wasn't red, was it? 

Gordon. 1 swear that it wasn't and {lookijig closely) 
isn't ! 

Margaret {sitting on sofa). That'll do. Now you may 
sit down, Mr. Clay, and tell me about the weather. 

Gordon {seating himself beside her). Margaret, it's a 
beastly shame that you're so tied to this, when you're fitted 
for wealth and gayety. 

Margaret. I'm not fitted for it any more than hun- 
dreds of other people. It's not wealth and gayety I'm cry- 
ing for; it's just the eternal feminine characteristics of 
wanting what I can't get. 

Gordon. That characteristic isn't entirely restricted to 
the eternal feminine, is it? I'm wanting, this very minute, 
something that I can't get — 

Margaret. Have you tried? 

Gordon. I'm afraid — 

Margaret. Then you don't deserve to have her — it, I 
mean. 

Gordon. Oh, Margaret, it's something greater than the 
sun and moon, something for which I can give only my- 
self. It's a woman's love. 

Margaret {hurriedly, m Jier confusion counting the 
buttons on his coat). Rich man, poor man, beggar man. 
thief. Why, Gordon Clay, discovered! 

(jOrdon. I'd like to steal something from yoti, if you'd 
only let me. 

Margaret (turning her back). You haven't said a word 
about the w^eather. 

Gordon. And what's more, I don't intend to. (Taking 
her hand.) Look at me, Margaret. 

Margaret. I can't — 

Gordon. Oh, I haven't anything to give but myself, 
but— 

Enter Bob. R. U. E. 

Ror. (at door). Move on, Gordon. This is a progressive 



32 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

game. A fellow has a right to his sister some of the time. 
I guess. {Comes dozvn R.) Move on, I say! (Takes 
Gordon's arm and thrusts li'nn out R. U. E. Waves to 
Angelina Maud off stage L.) Angel child, if you tempt 
me with another doughnut, I'll eat it. Then I'll be seeing 
things. {Going to Margaret.) Something has happened, 
Sis. Guess. 

Margaret. O-h-h-h, I can't. Wait ! The stenographer's 
sued you for breach of promise. 

Bob {sitting in chair in front of grate). Not yet, but 
soon. Guess again. 
■ Margaret. Somebody's offered you a better job. 

Bob. The money magnates are all fighting over me, but 
that's not it. 

Margaret. Unknown relative has left us a fortune? 

Bob. Maybe he has, but we don't know of it. Oh. 
you're slow. Listen, how would you like to go back to the 
old life for a while? How would you like to see me in a 
tuxedo once more? How would it feel to dance a two-step 
again ? 

Margaret {eagerly). Oh, Bob, you mean — 

Bob. That Mr. Norton has given me two weeks off and 
has bidden us both to his Christmas house-party. 

Margaret {clapping her hands). Oh, Bob — Bob — Bob! 

Bob (mm^). Isn't it great? Rise up, Cinderella. Shake 
off the ashes and I will buy you a pair of glass slippers, 
if I have to mortgage my frat pin to do it. {Catches her 
hands and pidls her up.) 

Margaret. Watch out, sir knight ; you may want to put 
that pin on a certain fair lady this very Christmas. 

Bob. I don't believe fifty dollars a month will buy a fair 
lady, do you? 

Margaret. It will if she is the right kind, and she is. 
Dear old Bobbie, you've never had a secret from me and 
you can't now. (Seats herself in rocking chair in front of 
grate.) 

Bob (sitting on arm of her chair). I'm not trying to — 
hello, whose handkerchief is this? (Takes handkerchief 
from her.) 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 33 

Margaret. Gordon's. I lost mine and he came to the 
rescue. I've caught a Httle cold and — {coughs.) 

Bob. Look here, Sis, you've been crying. You can't 
fool me. Has anything gone wrong? Has — oh, all this is 
hard, isn't it? Can you wonder that sometimes I wish 
some big strapping Croesus would come your way, some- 
body that could do more for you than your good-for-noth- 
ing cub of a brother? (Rises and stands in front of 
grate.) 

Margaret (rising and crossing to sofa). But I don't 
want a Croesus, Bobby boy. All I want is Gordon. 

Bob (turning). So — it's Gordon? 

Margaret. It's been Gordon I think from the very 
first. (Pause.) Bob? 

Bob. Gordon is everything that a fellow ^hould be. 
College bred, clever and a gentleman, but I had hoped 
other things for you. 

Margaret. I'm not afraid of poverty if love goes with 
it. 

Bob. But — a foreman — 

Margaret. Yes, a foreman, but everything that's good 
and true. 

Bob (coming to her). Little Sis. Nobody shall question 
your choice, but it's hard to give you up and— 

Margaret (laughingly). Bobby, don't worry, for he 
hasn't asked me yet. 

Bob. Margaret ? 

Margaret. But I think he will. (Rising.) Come, let's 
be merry ; let's forget all the days of discouragement and 
disappointment. (Swings his hand.) 

Bob. Let's forget the hash and cabbage and (point- 
ing to phonograph) the phonygraph. 

Margaret. For we're young. 

Bob. And we're going to have a merry Christmas — to- 
gether. (Puts arm around her and leans his head against 
hers.) Oh, dear little sister, I wish I could give you all 
the beautiful things you ought to have. Why, if T could 
I'd pull down the sun and moon for you just to roll along 
the eolf course. 



34 THE DREAM THAT CA^IE TRUE. 

Margaret. Never mind, Bobby dear; all I want is the 
love star and I think it's falling my way. {She slowlx 
seats herself on the floor in front of the fireplace and 
gazes into the fire. Bob zvatchcs her a moment, then noes 
out quietly R. U. E.) 

Enter Nan, R. U. E. 

Nan (coming down C). Dreaming-, Margaret? 

Margaret. Dreaming, Nan. Haven't you ever watched 
the pictures in the fire-? 

Nan. Only to see them fade into ashes. My life has 
had too many realities to admit of fancies. 

Margaret. Then come and we'll watch together. (Nan 
seats herself' by Margaret.) SQ<i—{ pointing) see that 
perfect rosebud of love, we'll say. One by one the little 
leaves ar^ folding back and now the glowing heart is 
opened to the light. 

Nan (pointing). Yonder is the bird of happiness. With 
some he does not care to linger. Upon others he sheds 
the full glory of his happiness. Upon many he drops only 
a feather of his golden plumage. 

Margaret (pointing). Look, there is the laurel wreath 
of fame. It would be a great thing to have the plaudits 
of the multitude, wouWn't it ? To know that the world was 
at your feet ? But there are other things worth while. Nan ; 
there are other things. 

Nan. Dreams— dreams. Thoughts are so linked with 
them ; life is so full of them that some must come true. 

Margaret. I have had my dreams since childhood. 
Now I have only to shut my eyes to see the blue of the 
sky, the pmk of the apple blossoms, the white oLthe clouds 
and the happy, care free child. And always the dream 
was of the Enchanted Castle. 

Nan My childhood memories are far different. The 
tour bleak walls of a factory. The never ceasing sound 
ot the machinery. The dreary world of toil peopled bv 
those who had no smile, no word for the lonely child. 

Margaret (putting her arm around her). Oh, Nan. 
Nan — ^ 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 35 

Nan. But I was deterpiined to rise above my surround- 
ings. I studied, I read and I have left the old life far 
behind. Yet throughout tlie years, Margaret there has 
been with me the craving for love, for friendship, for 
happiness. 

jMargaret. Nan, dear; my friendshij) isn't much; but 
1 give it to you in fullest measure, and I promise if ever 
the time comes when you need me. I shall stand the test. 

Nan. Your friendship, Margaret, is a very precious 
thing. It means happiness and I know that it will always 
be with me. 

Margaret. xAnd some day that true lover will stand 
before you. Oh, Nan, I trust he will be worthy of you. 

Nan (softly). He has already come, Margaret, and he 
is worthy of everything I can ever give him. 

'Margaret. Oh, Nan, I am glad. I am glad, for love, 
too, has come to me. Not with sound of trumpets and 
radiance of light, as I have always thought it v/ould come, 
but like a thjef in the night. (Silence. They clasp hands 
and Nan leans her head on Margaret's shoulder.) 

Nan. The fire dies out, tlie pictures fade away. 

Margaret. Oh, King of the Enchanted Castle, touch us 
with the wand of happiness. 

Nan. Oh, God of Love, look down upon us and make 
our dreams come true. 

Curtain. 



Act IL 



Scene: Living room in the Norton home. Wide doors 
ivith portieres, C. in F., shozving hall and hall tree beyond. 
Practical doors at R. U. E. and L. U. E. Round table 
with lamp, books, etc., dozvn C; stool in front of table. 
Large chairs R. and L. of table. Straight chairs R. U. E. 
and down R. Statue of Minerva, R. 2 E. Statue of 
J 'en us, L. 2 E. Sofa with pillows L. of C. Piano zvith 
stool L. of C. in F. Palms in corner by piano, arranged 
in sucJi a way that one might be concealed behind thein. 



2,6 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Desk zvitJi desk cliair R. of C. in F. Telephone on desk. 
Rugs, pictures, etc. 

Scene is illuvninated at rise since it is afternoon. Discoi'- 
cred, Emmy Lou, reading in chair R. of table and Nora 
dusting chair R. U. E. 

Emmy Lou. Nora, did you ever read about the golden 
apple ? 

Nora. The golden apple? Sure, and isn't it the golden 
eagle you mean, Miss Emmy Lou. 

Emmy Lou. Oh, no, it's a story in {spelling) m-y-t-h- 
mythology. 

Nora. Law, Miss Emmy Lou, I never saw such a child 
for reading. The golden apple, did you say? [Moves to 
chair down R.) 

Emmy Lou. Ves, it was this way: Once upon a time 
there was a shepherd boy named Paris. One day, while 
he was tending his sheep, he saw a golden apple, and on 
it were written these words : *'To the fairest." Now, Nora, 
you know who Juno and Minerva and Venus were, don't 
you? 

Nora. Never a one of 'em. 

Emmy Lou. ^^'ell, long ago, Nora, people used to be- 
lieve in gods and goddesses. Juno was the wife of Jupiter, 
king of the gods; Minerva was the goddess of wisdom; 
here she is [pointing to statue of Minerz'a) and Venus 
was the goddess of love and beauty and this is Venus 
{pointing to statue of Venus. Nora looks at each statue 
as Emmy Lou points.) 

Nora (scornfully). Sure and thev're not much to look 
at. * 

Emmy Lou. Now when the goddesses saw Paris, each 
tried to persuade him to give the apple to her. They were 
awfully jealous, Nora. 

Nora. Women usually are. Miss Emmy Lou. 

Emmy Loi^. But Nora, these women were goddesses. 

Nora (resuming dusting). A woman is a woman, no 
matter what else she is. 

Emmy Lou. Well, Juno told him that if he'd give it to 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 37 

her, she'd make hmi powerful ; and Mii]erva promised 
that he should be the wisest man in the world; just think 
of that, Nora ; and Venus said she would give hnn the 
most beautiful woman in the world for his wife. 
Nora. I bet 1 know who got the apple ? 
Emmy Lou. Who, Nora? 

Nora {pointing to Venus). The Venus goddess, didn't 
she? 

Emmy Lou. Why, yes; how did you know.-' 
Nora {patronizingh) . Now, Miss Emmy Lou, you 
don't mean to say that a man would rather have brams 
than a pretty girl? 

Emmy Lou. Oh, yes, Nora, every time;, at least, he 
should. Paris made an awful mistake. He should have 
given the apple to Minerva. 

Nora {turning up her nose at Minerva). And why? 
Emmy Lou. Why, wisdom is the greatest thing in the 
world. Some day I shall be a senior and have a cap and 
gown. After that I shall get letters after my name and 
know everything. 

Nora. Then the men won't like you. {Crosses stage 
back of table to sofa.) 

Emmy Lou (loftily). What is man? 
Nora (dusting sofa). A whole lot, and you'll thmk so, 
too, when vou're a little older. You talk real queer for a 
little girl, but I suppose you've been listenmg to Miss 
Delphine. 

Emmy Lou. Delphin<e says that the coming woman will 
not care for man; that she will depend upon herself. 
That's the reason she wants me to love Minerva. She was 
the goddess of wisdom because she never married. (Emmy 
Lou rises, puts book on table, crosses and stands thought- 
fully before Minerva.) 

Nora. Never a bit of it. Me for Venus. (Bends knee 
to Venus. Exit L. U. E.) 

Enter Delphine and Margaret, L. U. E. 
Delphine (at door). Margaret, is it really you? I'll 



38 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

be forced to pinch you every little while to prove that I am 
not dreaming. {TJiry cross to sofa L. of C.) 

Margaret. Well, if we are dreaniino-, let's not wake 
up. {Scats herself on sofa.) 

Delpiiine {sitting by her): Same old Margaret; a 
little bit more serious, perhaps. Oh, 1 wish 1 might have 
saved you some of the worry, dear; a wee bit more digni- 
fied, perhaps, and {catching up her hand) not engaged! 
Oh, I'm glad; or, Margaret, look here; your eyes always 
gave you away. Are you going to be? (Emmy Lou comes 
slozi'Iy^ to chair L. of table and listens interestedly to con- 
versation.) ^ 

Margaret {to Emmy Lou). Emmy Lou, your sister 
still asks impertinent questions, doesn't she? Tell me about 
her stunts since I last saw her. I Tow many men has she 
captured ? 

Delpiiine. There, Margaret, is where you guess again. 
Man, collectively and individually, has ceased to attract. 

Margaret {in surprise). Delphine! 

Delpiiine {loftily). Oh, Em not joking. I have elimi- 
nated man from all my calculations and I desire above all 
else to alter the social and economical relations of woman 
to the modern world, and to bring about a state of afifairs 
that shall be fundamentally dififerent from that which now 
prevails. 

Margaret {laughing). You make me laugh. To think 
of you scorning the masculine element after sighing for 
more worlds to conquer. 

Delphine. That was before I went to college, but the 
greatest thing about co-education is that the college grad- 
uate wdl not take the first man that ofifers himself. The 
four years spent with him in college halls have helped her 
to know him too well. 

Margaret. It's just a fad— a funny fad, like all the rest 
of them. Don't you remember the time when you thought 
slummmg was your one mission in life until an epidemic 
of small-pox — 

Delpiiine. Now, Margaret, don't— 

Margaret. And you haven't forgotten the physical cul- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



39 



ture movement, have you, when you insisted that the body 
must be a beautiful temple for the soul and— 

Delphine. That's mean of you. . , ^ . i ^ 

Margaret. Then there was the period of unrest, when 
you determmed to devote yourself to "plam hvmg and 
-high thinking." We could have endured the high think- 
ing/' but the -plain living" went hard, after the grand 
spreads in your room. 

Delphine. But I'm older now, and the woman move- 
ment . , _^ T. „„ 

Margaret. Don't say woman movement to me. it re- 
minds me of Miss Biddle and I ^yant to forget her now^ 
(Moves closer.) Come, tell me about all the people Im 

^""SfLPHmE^ 'Oh, there is a lord, Margaret ; a real Eng- 
lish lord; short on brains but long on ^a^h. Algernon 
Reginald. What's in a name? And there s Billy Best, 
captain of the 'varsity team, a perfect dear, a so short on 
brains but long on muscle. (Emmy Lou sho.vs disap- 
proval as each name is mentioned.) 

Margaret. They sound interesting. Go on. 
Delphine. Mrs. Allaire is chaperoning; widow, i be- 
lieve. Stunning, charming, but — 

Margaret. But what? ^t,^^^', 

Delphine. Did I say ^li^^ Didn't mean to. Then there s 
Peeev Gilbert, college sophomore and perfect y adorable, 
if she'd get the germ of Browning out of her system. 
Then— let's see— Dad, Emmy Lou, Bob, you a"d— oh yes, 
Doris Hall, a far removed cousin. She s awfully athletic 
and Em scared to death the m.en won't like her. 
Enter Bob, R. U. E. 

Margaret. Who's my man? 

Bob (crossing Jiastilx) . The eternal question. Cleat 
out. Sis, and let me have a word with my hostess. Oh 
Delphine, if you knew how— 

Emmy Lou (jumping up). Mr. Bob! Mr. Bob! 

Bob (seidng both her hands). If it isn't Emmy Lou. 
Haven't forgotten me, have you? And here you re grow 



40 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



i»& 



g up so fast that I can't keep track of you. Before I 
know it, you'll be a freshman and struggling with college 
algebra instead of {glancing at book on table) reading 
fairy stories. By the way, last time I saw you you were 
telling me about the princess who was shut up in a tower 
where the gate was overgrown with thorns and the 
knight — 

Emmy Lou. Oh, he got her, I\Ir. Bob— he got her ! The 
thorns hurt his hands dreadfully, but he ^of her! 

Bob. Did it ever impress you as a bit odd, Emmy Lou, 
that he didn't use a hatchet on them instead of his hands? 

Emmy Lou. But they were magic thorns. 

Margaret (rising and moving tozvard door R. U. E.). 
Emmy Lou, I'm waiting. Come help me find the English 
lord, and, oh, I may be stupid in some respects, but I can 
take a hint. And, oh, Bobbie boy, what did I tell you? 
{Exit R. U. £., followed reluctantly by Emmy Lou.) 

Delphine. Still kidding you, isn't she? (Bob seats 
himself by her and seizes her hands.) Let go my hands. 

Bob. Not when I've waited two years' to hold them. 
Tell me something. 

Delphine. Well, hurry up. 

Bob. How many fellows have you met since I last saw 



you^ 



Delphine. Dozens of them. 

Bob. The sentimentality of the under-graduate seldom 
amounts to anything, does it? 

Delphine. Oh, there is a tide in the affairs of co-edu- 
cation which, taken at the flood, leads on to matrimony. 

Bob. The deuce it does. 

Delphine. And if the ideal lover makes his appear- 
ance before commencement day — well, he wins out. 

Bob. What is your ideal lover, Delphine? 

Delphine. Why, the one who proposes. {Wrenches 
her hands away.) My, but I'm glad to get my hands back. 
Now talk to me. 

Bob. For a Bachelor of Arts to talk to a mere non- 
entity such as your humble servant, is like asking a foot- 
ball man to play croquet. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 41 

Delphine. Nonsense. (Szveetly.) I like you, Bob. 

Bob. Watch out. Don't look at me that way, or — 

Delphine. You don't seem a bit awed by my degree. 

Bob. I'm not. 1 don't believe in higher education for 
women. 

Delphine. What do you mean by that? 

Bob. Just this. A degree is apt to turn out a ranting 
club woman, a political economist or a suffragette. 

Delphine {in surprise). Bob! 

Bob. And you can instantly spot the college graduate 
by her superior air and her scorn of all things domestic. 

Delphine {scornfully). You "believe, I presume, that 
no woman has the right nor the intelligence, to delve into 
higher mathematics or to master psychology ; that she 
should confine herself to a cook book or the practical sys- 
tem of dressmaking. 

Bob. I believe that too much knowledge is apt to inter- 
fere seriously with a girl's adapting herself to the prac- 
tical matters of life, such as — matrimony. 

Delphine. That's anything but practical sometimes. 

Bob. What the world needs is the wholesome creature, 
who can cook and sew and who — 

Delphine. Will promise to love, cherish and obey. 
Well, the ''clinging vine" stunt does not appeal to me. 
( Rises. ) 

Bob {pulling her dozvn again). Calm down, little spit- 
fire. Bob's only teasing you as he used to do. Come, now ; 
let's begin where we left off. 

Delphine. Don't ask me to be again the light-hearted, 
foolish, altogether frivolous creature you left — 

Bob. She suited me. 

Delphine. Well, she's gone forever, and, Phoenix-like, 
from her ashes there has sprung a more intellectual and 
more enlightened type of womanhood. ^ 

Bob {gravely). Briefly, Delphine, what's the plan for 
your life work? 

Delphine. I desire above all else to gain the fullest 
experience that life can offer ; to help obtain for women 
equal rights with men. 



42 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Bob. You do not mention marriage. 

Delphine. I do not think it necessary to mention it. 
For one must easily see that marriage has no place in the 
schedule of t^e new woman. 

Bob. But suppose the new woman should happen to fall 
in love? 

Delphine. She wouldn't fall in love. She'd have only 
a passing psychic interest and would be quite free from 
sentimental disturbances. 

Bob. And what does 'the new woman claim as her 
rights ? 

Delphine. The recognition of her equal intelligence 
and her ability to fill any position of trust that man may 
hold ; the acknowledgment that she is essentially what man 
is, without his pride, his selfishness and his tyranny. 

Bob. Just for variety, let's say something about the 
rights of man. Speaking plainly and rationally, it is the 
man that has proved himself to be the one power in the 
universe. It is he who has founded great nations and 
built great cities ; who has conquered the forces of nature ; 
who has evolved order from chaos, strength from weak- 
ness, civilization from barbarism. The w^orld today is just 
what man has made it. The history of the future must be 
just what man shall choose to make it. 

Delphine. How can you say it? Woman has been 
crushed in every effort, has been given no opportunity to 
show — 

Bob. If woman has it in her to do what man can do, 
why has she never shown such a capacity? 

Delphine. Because only lately has woman awakened 
to the fact that she had in her power — 

Bob. Why has woman always chosen to be the depend- 
ent of man? Why has she not chosen instead to be his 
comptitor? Why has she found her supreme happiness 
at his side? 

Delphine {angrily). Or why has he, her husband, 
left her at home to slave away her life, while he cultivates 
his mind and broadens his horizon? 

Bob. Do you think the husband is airily floating around 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 43~ 

with nothing- to do but to expand mentally and morally? 
Well, hardly. He is spending his days in work as prosaic 
as hers; he has worries and responsibilities of which she 
knows nothing. 

Delpiiine. Oh, it isn't so; it can't be so! 

Bob {serioiisI\). But it is so, Delphine. \\'oman's place 
in the world has long been established. She stands by the 
side of man ; not to force her way into a rivalry \vith him, 
but rather as the one that loves, trusts and relies upon 
him. 

Delphine (in confusion). Somehow, I can't answer. 
I can't think, and [suddenly) I certainly won't listen to 
you any longer. i^Riscs to L. 2 E. and stops.) But before 
I go, may I ask one favor of you? My cousin, Miss Hall, 
is a stranger in our midst and I'm asking you to devote 
yourself henceforth to her! (Exit L. 2 E. Bob sits with 
head in hands.) 

Enter EuuY Lou, R. U. E. 

Emmy Lou. Mr. Bob. (Bob does not anszver. She ad- 
vances a little:) Mr. Bob. {He looks up.) Oh, I thought 
you were asleep. 

Bob. No, I was just thinking. 

Emmy Lou {coming nearer). What were you thinking 
about ? 

Bob. Why, you, of course. 

Emmy Lou [putting stool in front of him and seating 
herself.) No. you weren't. You're stringing me, just as 
you do the big girls, and Em little and I want the truth. 
{Solmenly.) Now, what were you thinking about? 

Bob. V\'ell, Emmy Lou, I was thinking of the princess 
story; about a princess shut up in a tower, so very far 
above us that nobody can reach her. While the tower is 
so overgrown with thorns of prejudice, misunderstanding 
and erroneous thorns that nobody can tear them away. 

Emmy Lou. T don't know what you mean ; but are you 
the gallant knight? 

Bob. Let's pretend I am, anywav. 



44 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Emmy Lou (eagerly). .Vnd is the princess real, and do 
you love her? 

Bob. With all my heart. 

Emmy Lou. Then get her! . 

Bob. But the trouble is, she doesn't love me. 

Emmy Lou. But she must. How can she help it? 

Bob {laughingly). Now who's stringing? 

Emmy Lou {seriously). No, T'm not. I don't know 
how. Vm not old enough, and anyway I wouldn't if I 
could, because one does have to do so nuich of it later on. 

Bob. Don't bother, little girl. It will come naturally. 

Emmy Lou. But about the princess. Make her love 
you. In the story she was so proud and thought she 
couldn't love the knight, but after he was so brave and 
tore away all the thorns, she couldn't help herself. And 
if the thorns are too prickly, use a hatchet. 

Bob. But I had just decided, Emmy Lou, to let the 
princess stay in her tower ; to give her up. 

Emmy Lou. Oh, don't, Mr. Bob; don't. Try again and 
again till you get her. {Suddenly.) Oh, I'll even ask 
Minerva, my patron saint, to help you.- {Looks at 
Minerva.) 

Bob {rising and crossing to R.). Not Minerva, child, 
but Venus instead. {Points to Venus. Emmy Lou rises 
and stands thoughtfully before Venus.) 

Emmy Lou. Venus? Oh, I can't. But she was the god- 
dess of love. {Turning.) I'll do it, Mr. Bob, for you, and 
you'll promise me something? 

Bob {at door R: U. E.). Anything you say. 

Emmy Lou. Well, if — if she won't love you and you 
can't get her, why, Mr. Bob, why, I'm here! {Runs out 
L. 2 E. Bob laughs heartily. Exit R. U. E.) 

Enter Peggy, L. U. E. Seats herself in chair R. of 
table. A whistle sounds off stage. She begins to read 
aloud and pays no attention. 

Enter Billy, C. in F. 

Billy {coming up behind her). Here's your Uncle Bill. 
Peggy (jumping). Oh, how you startled me, Billy. I 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 45 

was deep in Fra Lippo Lippi and when I'm engrossed in 
Browning, nothing ever distracts my attention. 

Billy (standing behind table). Just the way I feel 
about football. I tell you now, Peggy, it's the grandest 
game on earth. I'd rather make a touchdown with the 
cheers of the crowd in my ears and the knowledge that 
the dear old college is on top than— than— well— than to 
write any poem of old man Browning. 

Peggy {with dignity). Did you study what I told you, 

Billy- ' • ,• ,x^ 

Billy {crossing to sofa L. of C. and seating himself de- 
jectedly). Peg, I didn't have time for the blamed stuff. 
I can't understand him, anyway. He's worse than the 
signals of the opposite team. When a fellow's talkmg and 
dreaming football, there isn't much r-oom in his bram for 
anything else. I didn't study him, Peggy, but I read hmi 
over You ask me and I'll do the best I can. 

Peggy. That's just the trouble, Billy. That's just the 

trouble. You neglect the intellectual side altogether and 

it isn't right. Every effort of yours is for football and 

you're not taking anything but chapel and lunch, are you.-^ 

Billy. Bible once a week and some work m the music 

school. . .. 

Peggy {scornfull\). All of which is useless. Your bib- 
lical knowledge is very faulty, Billy, and when, may I ask, 
did you become musical? , 

Billy. That's right; rub it in, Peggy. I cant study. 
It isn't in me. I'm not clever like you and I never will be. 
What good will Browning do me if I can't understand a 
word of him? {Takes cofv of Brozvning from pocket.) 

Peggy {earnestly). It's something to have a knowledge 
of him, to train and cultivate your mind. Oh, Billy, I love 
(Billy looks up hopefully) Browning (Billy sighs de- 
jectedly) and I want you to like him so that we may be 
congenial. . . , ,, • 

Billy (seriously). Peggy, I'll try again and maybe this 
time I'll win out. Ask me some questions and 111 just 
make mvself learn. ^ 

Peggy. That's good of yod, Billy. You see it s for your 



46 THE DREA.AI THAT CAME TRUE. 

own benefit Em doing it. First, wlien was Browning 
born? (Rises and scats herself in chair L. of table.) 

Billy. 18-60, wasn't it ? 

Peggy {shaking finger). Think, now. 

Billy. I never could remember dates (aside) unless I 
made them myself. 

Peggy (encouragingly). Eigluecn tw-tw — 

Billy (in rcliered tone). 1820; oh, yes, now 1 remem- 
ber. 

Peggy {sternly). 1812 is correct, not 1820. When did 
he die? 

Billy. Oh, I see through your catch question, teacher. 
He's living now. Poet laureate, isn't he? 

Peggy. Oh, Billy, Billy, he died in 1889. 

Billy. Are you sure? 1 could have sworn he was living. 

Peggy. Name some of his poems. 

Billy {aside). Now Em up against it! What in tliun- 
der did he write? (Aloud.) Oh, yes, that curious sort of 
name; begins with N, doesn't it? 

Peggy (joyfully). Numpholeptos ! Whv, how did you 
ever remember that hard one, Billy? 

Billy (encouraged). Oh, Em a shark at remembering 
some things. AA'rote Thanatopsis, too, didn't he? 

Peggy. Browning wrote Thanatopsis? Bryant, Billy, 
Bryant ! 

Billy. Why, pshaw! Of course! how stupid of me! 

Peggy. What was Browning's philosophy? 

Billy. Oh, he believed that— oh, pshaw,' I knew that a 
mmute ago, that nature was— no, not that ; he kind of 
reached out for things, didn't he? (Reaches out and takes 
her hand.) 

^ Peggy. Exactly. Oh, Billy, you're doing better and 
I m so encouraged. Oh, you will study for my sake, won't 
you? (Snatches hand away.) 

Billy. Ed do worse than that for vou. (Shoz'cs book 
in pocket.) 

Peggy (rising Jiastdy, crosses, seats herself in chair R. 
of table). Oh, that reminds me. There's a new qirl ar- 
rived for the house party, Dtlphine's cousin we'rc^ afraid 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. ^7 

she won't prove attractive to the men, and Em asking you 
to be specially nice to her— a i -^r t n,-,^ 

Billy {crossiuy to back of her chair). And if I am, 
will you promise me something? {Leans over her.) 
Peggy (looking up at him). What? 
Enter Mrs. Allaire, Delphine, Margaret and Bob, 
C in F Mrs Allaire and Margaret a little in advance. 
Mrs Allaire crosses to sofa and stands; Margaret 
comes to chair L. of table. Delphine followed by Bob 
crosses to R. U. E. . 

Delphine. If you can't master Brownmg, B lly, t } 
your hand at bridge. The two are charming y aliterative. 
'i^rlg to MarIaret.) Margaret, Billy is taking pri- 
vate lessons in Browning, for obvious reasons (To Nora 
oTstaaeR U.E.) Nora, the table, please. (Nora /;m/^^ 
Zdsand card table, entering at R. U.E. She arrarrges 
table R of C, placing desk chair R. U. E.„ chair down 
R Peggy's chair remains in position by turning a little. 
Evit Nora R. U. E. Bob takes chair opposite Peggy. 
^,L pulls out chair facing audience /or Margaret, ^^w 
crosses and seats herself. He then seats himself m remaiu- 
ing chair.) No (as Bob offers his place) I ^efuse^o p ay 
That's the rock on which we split, isn t it, Mrs Allaire 
(Bridge game is played. Margaret crosses to sofa.) 
' Now Mrs. Allaire is an ardent advocate of bridge. 

Mrs Allaire (seating herself on sofa). As the only 
means of ^spanning the social chasm. You'll grant that, 

""^DelphIne (sitting by her). Not even that. Like lo.^ 
it is an exploded theory. (Looking at Bob.) Down with 
Cupid, up with Minerva! r -a :^ .u\\ 

Bob (rising). I rise to a point of order. Cupid is still 
the only ^od worth worshipping. (Sits.) 

Mrs. Allaire (laughing). Are you sure you don t 
mean cupidity? The two are often confused 

Peggy. I want a god who can see things. Love isbhnd. 

Mrs. Allaire. Never too blind to see the dollar sign, 
my dear. 



48 THE DREA.M THAT CAME TRUE. 

Margaret. But, poor little fellow, he burnt his eyes 
making matches. 

Mrs. Allaire. Is that the reason so many of them 
smell of brimstone? 

Margaret. Oh, how dreadful! I'm still old-fashioned 
enough to believe in love. 

Billy. I'll go you one farther. I believe in matrimony. 

Mrs. Allaire {rising and crossing to back of Billy's 
c/iair). Matrimony? Dear, stupid Billy! Don't you know 
there's no such word these days? You mean matter o' 
money. {Crosses to piano, seats herself on stool and turns 
over niiisic.) 

Delpiiine. Dear me, I'd forgotten all about Lord Al- 
gernon. Where can he be? 

Margaret. Out with your cousin. When I met him, 
he d been twice around the links and had plavcd a violent 
game of tennis. 

Delphine. Then Doris has probably taken our English 
friend motoring and they're maybe mi'les away. 

Enter Doris, C. in F. 

Doris {dozvn C). Slandering the absent, are you^ I 
didnt go.any place and I'm late because we had a break- 
down, and {looking around) hello, everybodv ! Had anv- 
thing to eat.^ {Throz.^s dozen zcraps.) I tell you, auto- 
mobihng IS just like being in love. You either have it bad 
or not at all. 

Delphine. You've met Margaret (motioning to Bob), 
but not her brother. (Bob and Billy rise. Bob crosses 
back of table and Doris meets him half zua\ ) 

Doris (shaking hands cordially zvith Bob). I'm cer- 
tainly glad to know you, Mr. Byrnes. (Seeing his pin.) 
Oh you re a Beta. I'm just dippy about Betas. 

Delphine (hurrying her azvay to meet Billy who n 
adz'ancmg). And Mr. Best. 

Doris (effitsiz'ely shaking hands). Captain of the X'av- 
sity team. Oh, I've been just dying to meet you and ask 
you about that play of yours in the Tiger game Heavens 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



49 



but I'm crazy about foot1>an. Sliakc again! {They shah- 
hands ai/aiii.) 

Enter Lord Algernon, C. in P. Delpiiine hr.rncs to 
him, standing on his left. 

Lord Algernon (dotm C). By jove, I'm just a little 
oul'of breath don't you know! I've been do.ng what you 

^^\::^s:i;ZT'ef^ard ta,le to his ri.kt fol- 
lowed by Bob). You are a little off color, aren t you? 
Wha Jou need is to get used to ath et.c sttmts. 

ToRD ^LGFRNoN (taking out small book), \oumn 
pa^dtn me" Miss Norton/ ,f I look at my Uttk book^ 
(fookina carcfullv.) Stunt; no, I haven t it. Just a list 
of American terms to help me understand your remark- 
?aL Sngtiage (Mrs. Allaire turns on stool and Ustens 
ifitprp^tedlv to conversation.) ,^ 

Delphine ipereciving Bob). Oh, you haven t met Mr. 

^^LoRD Algernon. You will pardon me, old chap, if I 
do not offer nv right hand (e.nending hrs ^/f '»««dV 
Corkhg good game: but I have, bah jove ('«f ";(/ f 
We .put it on the bum! (Delphine crosses to Mar- 
garet and perches on arm of her chair.) 

DoRi" I should think so. A person would 1<"0W you 
bad never handled a golf stick nor twir ed a rackety 
(Takes his hand.) Look at those hands. Theyie soft as 
a girl's. How do you keep them so? 

Torn Algernon. I usually sleep in gloves 
^ZslSng closely at Mm). Do you sleep m your 

''*Lord'' Algernon. Why, no; certainly not, (Aside.) 
T wonder what she meant? 

Doris (.,V^m<y on sofa). Delphine, that new machine 
of vours is a cracker jack. • ^u i 

Lord Algernon {v:riting in book). Crackerjack. ! 

Rob r^iWn" fcv Doris). How many cylinders .' (bILI.^ 
c.f.°'.. """ o» 'other side of Doris. Margaret, Peggy 
and Delphine arc left alone.) 



50 THE DREAAI THAT CAME TRUE. 

DoRJS. Four, vertical. Today the machine came to a 
sudden stop. Sounded hke a lack of gasoline, 1)Ut upon 
investigation 1 found that the tank was filled. Then 1 
thought it might be batteries, but no, nothing wrong there. 
Then, naturally, I supposed that the intake valve had got- 
ten stuck. The machine does not use a float. But no — 
what do you suppose was the matter? 

Lord Algernon {sitting on stool). I can't imagine. 

Doris. Of course you can't. Well, the cock that con- 
trols the feed pipe had shaken shut and of course no 
gasohne could tiow through the carburetor. (Mrs. Al- 
laire rises, crosses to girls and seats herself in chair left 
by Bob.) 

Lord Algernon. You're a corking good fellow, Miss 
Dons, bah jove, you are. Don't you wish you were a 
man ? 

Doris. You bet I do. Don't you? 

Bob. Are you as much of a star in your college work 
as you are m athletics? 

Doris. College work? I don't believe in college edu- 
cation for women. What they need is a good wholesome 
life and a sensible training in domestic science. 

Bob {looking at Delphine). Hear! Hear! You're a 
girl after my own heart. (Rises and goes back of sofa.) 

Doris {looking back at him). After your own heart? 
Why, I believe Fd like to try. Give me leave? (Lord 
Algernon rises and sits bv Doris in place vacated by 
Bob.) 

Bob (leaning over her). Try me and see. (Delpiiinf 
glares at him.) 

Billy. And you saw that Thanksgiving game when— 

Doris. Saw the Thanksgiving game? Do you suppose 
Id stay at home \xhen~( takes volume of Brozcning from 
Lillys pocket.) Now, what on earth are you doing with 
Browning— a big, husky, dandy fellow like you? (Scorn- 
fully.) Browning! (Thro'ivs it across stage.) 

Billy (meekly). Vm just trying to cultivate my mind. 

Doris. Cultivate your mind when you can cultivate 
your muscle? Do you suppose T'd be poring over some- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



51 



thing I didn't understand and didn't care for, if I could 
he a real force, a real \}o\yvv'^ Oh, how I wish 1 were a 
man! How 1 should love il ! 

Billy. My, what a coach you'd make. Ill get you to 
harangue the team. What would you say, anyway ^ 

All the Men. Speech! Speech! (Lord Algernon 
pushes stool forward, Billy and Bob assist Doris in 
uiounting it.) ■ , ^- 

Doris. Football squad of the University! You are on 
the verge of a fierce and decisive struggle— the greatest in 
the annals of our college. Like the Spartan mothers ot 
old we send you forth with the admonition, "Return with 
your shields or upon them." What matter if you break 
a leg, lose an arm or smash a nose! Is it not done for the 
honor of the cause, the uplifting of the colors, the ever- 
lasting triumph of the dear old Varsity? Grit your teeth 
and fix your eye on the enemy. Make for him— grab him 
—down him— sit on him and keep sitting. If you must 
rise to the occasion, see that he doesn't. Suddenly there 
will be a hush, a breathless silence— everybody will lean 
forward and out on the field there'll be a writhing mass 
with arms and legs and hair all tangled. They 11 roll and 
tumble and struggle and then a figure with the PVgskin 
will dash out ! They'll try to stop him ; but no, n/3 ! I ush- 
ing, dodging, hammering, he'll go on until he's right be- 
tween the goal posts! And it will be Billy-Billy. (Ap- 
plause from men.) . . 

Delpiiine (?V/7a'). Don't let me interrupt you, Dons, 
but won't you care to rest before dinner? ^ . , ^ 

Doris (jumping from- stool). Rest? Not a bit! But per- 

'haps I ought to change my gown. (Pieks up ^^'^'^/'^M 

Wxll, good-bye, everybody! (Starts toward R. U. t., 

followed b\ all the men.) • i -r 

Lord Algernon. Oh, Miss Dons, would you mind if 

(suddenly), bah jove, I'll go too. (Doris takes his arm. 

Exeunt R. U. E.) .. 

Bob (looking after her). What a peach of a girl! Will 

I help ei-^tertain her? W^ell, I guess yes. 

Dflphine (eoldh). Don't let me hinder you. Come, 



52 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. ; 

Margaret. Come, Mrs. ;Vllairc. {Exeunt Delpiiine, Mar- ■ 
(;aket, Mrs. Allaire at C. in F.) , 

Bob. I say, Delpliine, wait! I — {exit hurriedly C. in i 
F. Billy stands at door R. U . E. and looks zcistfully out.) \ 

Peggy. Billy, let's have the rest of Browning now. \ 

Billy (turning). Browning be — j 

Peggy (shocked). Billy! « 

Billy. Browning be dispensed with tliis time, Peggy, j 
That's wdiat I meant to say. \ 

Peggy {takes book from table). We took "My Last] 
Duchess," didn't we? First, what is a monologue? | 

Billy (fl^ back of her chair). Its — oh, hang. I didn't { 
look at that Duchess thing. f 

Peggy. Never mind explanations. It's too late. Did j 
you read "Abt Vogler?" 

Billy. I started it, but — 

Peggy {throzving book on table). You've failed; that's 
all, and if you had cared for me you w^ould have studied 
as I asked you. (Rises.) 

r>iLLY. But, Peggy, I just couldn't. It isn't in me. 

Peggy (coldly). Let us join the others. (Exit C. in F. 
followed by Billy.) 

Enter Norton. E. U. E., followed by Nan. He comes 
dozen C. and seats Jiinisclf in chair R. of table. Nan 
stands E of table. 

Nan. Mr. Norton? | 

Norton [brusquely). What is it? j; 

Nan (shozving letters). A few letters by afternoon I 
mail. Will you have them now? j 

Norton (looking at zvatch). It's late — almost too late 
for — no, business is business and we'll get them out of i 
the way. 

Nan (opening letter). A report from your agent 
expenses of the year and definite gains. 

Norton. What about expenses? 

Nan. $500 less than last year. 

Norton. And gains? 

Nan. $25,000 clear. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 53 

Norton. Ah! (To himself.) At last things come my 
wav— at last. {To Nan.) $25,000, you say? 

Nan. $25,000. Is it divided between you and your 
partner ? . 

Norton (quickly). Partner? I have no partner, it is 
clear gain to me—to me. Why did you ask that question? 
Nan. For idle curiosity. I had heard there was an- 
other owner. 

Norton (sharply). Deny any such statement hereafter. 
(After a pause.) Where have I seen you before, girl .^ 

Nan. Doubtless in your factory. I spent much of my 
youth there, though why you should remember me is 
strange. Surely among the hundreds of wage earners no 
face stands out distinctly. 

Norton. Scarcely. A wild, complaining lot of chil- 
dren, crying for what they do not need, ungrateful for 
what is given them. Bah! Go on. 

Nan (opening another letter). A note from Mr. Clay. 
Norton. Again? 

Nan (glancing over it). Stating that one of the work 
rooms is beyond use ; that its foul air, its wet floors means 
death to — 

Norton. No need to go on. Write him emphatically 
that I have no money— no money, understand— to use 
foolishly. 

Nan. But it w^ould take but a small sum. 
Norton. Which I do not care to advance. Wet floors, 
bad air, indeed. When did the creatures become so deh- 
cate, so fastidious, as to — 

Nan (passionately). How can you say so? How can 
you? Because they are poor and helpless, why should they 
suffer? Because they are hired for pitiful wages, why 
should death and illness go hand in hand with them? 

Norton (angrih). Young woman, enough^ I have en- 
gaged you as a secretary, not as ethical adviser. Do you 
understand? (jO on. 

Nan (glacing at another letter). A request for a dona- 
tion from a charitable organization. 



54 THE DREAM THAT CAxME TRUE. 

Norton. Write them that I shall send them a generous 
check. Next ? 

Nan {glancing at signature of another). A letter from 
a certain William Gordon. 

Norton {quickly). Hand that to me. 1*11 attend to it. 
1 hat's all. (Nan hands it over. He rises.) Very well, 
answer as I told you. As to that report I wish, you'll find 
It m the memorandum book in the left hand drawer of 
the table. {Exit L. U. E.) 

Nan {to herself). Is there nothing I can do after all? 
Am I to fail? Are the people to suffer? {Goes to desk R. 
of Cm F. and opens drazver.) The memorandum book, 
he said. {Pulls out drawer and letter falls.) How care- 
less of me. {Picking up letter.) W1iy, here's a letter It 
must have shipped down and back of the drawer. {Look^ 
at It.) What.^ Signed Lewis Gordon. It mav be a clew. 
Ill read it. (Reads.) "Dear Norton: My letter askin<- 
you to sell my share of the factory and to invest the 
I)roceeds m copper stock has barely started 'on its wav 
to you, but that sixth sense of mine, which you have so 
often mocked, tells me to countermand the order I am 
writing this note, then, to bid you retain my stock in the 
works and to hold it until the boy is able to care for his 
own. {Thoughtfully.) This does not seem to help me 
out, but I 11 keep It and {taking out the book) oh, this is 
the memorandum I want! 

Enter Gordon. C. in P., after hanging coat and hat on 
hall tree. 

Gordon {^^oing to Nan). Nan, what luck to find von 
alone, to — 

Nan. Gordon, I've failed! There seems to be nothin- 
to grasp nothing to go on. Today a letter came from you? 
triend Mr. Norton seized upon it immediately There 
must be something wrong. His actions show it and vet 
I cannot find out what it is 

Gordon. Don't think of it. Nan, for we've something- 
nearer home to test our strength, to trv our endurance 
I he strike s on. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 55 

Nan. The strike! No, no! It can't be. Gordon, couldn't 
you hold them? [Puts hand on his arm.) 

Gordon. Hold them! They're like a mob of infuriated 
animals. Cold • weather and no fuel ; poverty and no as- 
sistance ; starvation and no prospect of better times. Can 
you wonder that they are past control? 
Nan. What can we do, Gordon? 

Gordon {fiercely). What can we do? Fight and tight 
to win. Oh, Nan/ my blood is. up. I'll brook no obstacle. 
I'll have my way! {Crosses to L. of table.) 
Nan. Oh, if you only could. 

Gordon. I zvill succeed. Something tells me that m this 
very town in which I've worked and striven and learned 
the lesson of the common people, I shall win" my victory. 
Nan. Has it been worth while— this struggle in our 
midst? Has it brought you anything but perplexity and 
toil? {Scats herself in chair R. of table.) 

Gordon. Has it been worth while? It's brought me my 
crown of happiness; for if I had not cast my fortunes 
with the factory people, I should have missed the greatest 
influence that comes into a man's life— his love for another ! 
Nan (startled). Gordon! . x >t 

Gordon {crossing and leaning over chair). Nan, you re 
xcry dear to me. Your understanding, your sympathy 
have meant much more than I can say. I must share this 
secret with you. I must tell you of this love— 
Nan {to herself). I'm happy, happy, happy! 
Gordon. Nan, I haven't been like most men. Ive never 
thought of love for myself, it has seemed so far away, so 
intangible. But I've felt the beauty of its meaning and 
I've given my all— to— Margaret. 
Nan (bewildered). Margaret! (Rises.) 
Gordon. Haven't you guessed? Haven't you known .^ 
Oh I've felt that I must show it in every glance, every 
word (Notes her expression.) Oh, I've startled you. I 
should have remembered that you are tired, overstrung. 

Forgive me. / r- • r o 

Nan (to herself). Margaret— Margaret ! (Exit L. I 
E. Gordon stands gazing after her.) 



56 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Enter Margaret, R. U. E. 

Margaret {coming to him). Bobby! Why are you here 
all by yourself, when — {recognizing him) — oh, it's you! 

Gordon {seizing her hand). It's I — oh, Margaret, do 
you think I could go a day without a sight of you? The 
sun had dropped out of heaven since you left. 

Margaret {crossing and sitting on sofa). But the stars 
of the Jenkins constellation are still shining, aren't they? 
Tell me about them. 

Gordon {standing by her). I'm not trifling. You must 
listen to what I say. Prudence, wisdom, foresight, I've 
thrown them to the winds, for all that I realize is, that I 
love you. I love you. 

Margaret {turning away). Gordon — 

Gordon {leaning over her). And I'm waiting — waiting 
for the three little words that you'll say to me. 

Margaret {hiding her face). I can't. I can't. 

Gordon. But you can. {Sound of footsteps off L.) 

Margaret. Listen. Someone is coming. I must go. 

Gordon {glancing at tcleplione). Then I'll telephone 
you later. vShall I ? And will you tell me what I want to 
know ? 

Margaret {at R. U. E.). Oh, Gordon, I will, I will. 
(ExitR.U.E.) 

Enter Norton, R. U . E. He crosses to R. of table. 

Norton {at chair). And to what do I owe the honor of 
this visit, Mr. Clay? 

Gordon {turning). To business, solely. 

Enter Nan, L. 2 E., unseen by either. Conceals herself 
behind palms, near piano. 

Norton. Then be brief. My time is valuable. 

Gordon. A few words will state my mission. The 
catastrophe of which I have repeatedly w^arned you has 
come. The strike is declared. 

Norton (sarcastically). Indeed! And this, I presume, 
you consider the final blow, which will "bring me to 
terms," as you aptly put it. 

Gordon. I am not so optimistic. What I have to say 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 57 

I am stating as a business proposition. The closing of the 
factory necessarily means loss of money. 

Norton. But not curtailment of my own expenses. It 
will not harm me. 

Gordon. But the people. 

Norton {turning angrily). Curse the people. What 
should I care what becomes of them? Blind to their own 
interests, they^ — 

Gordon {raising hand). Just a minute. A strike, I 
grant, means many hardships to the strikers, from one stand- 
point, for their material needs are best satisfied by steady 
work, no matter how great the burdens. From another 
standpoint human nature must revolt, the primitive man 
must fight for justice. 
i Norton {seating himself in chair R. of table). Socio- 

* logical rot. My young friend, you have mistaken the theo- 
retical for the practical. I knozi' with whom I am dealing. 

I I know what is best for my own interests, what is best for 

: theirs. Let them strike. Do they think they can thwart 

I me, frighten me, force me? I've won my way over every 

other man's failures. I have crushed those who dared to 

* oppose me. It's the law of success, the law of life. 

Gordon (coming close). But not the law of the broth- 
" erhood of man. I ask you, is this your reply to the 

strikers? 
' Norton. This is my reply. That when they are willing 
I to go back to the same conditions, the factory doors will 
\ be open to them. If they refuse — 

j Gordon. Then, Mr. Norton, I play my last trump. 
] With the name of William Gordon as a threat. I ask that 
I you yield to the demands of the strikers. 
I Norton (rising). Your impudence is astonishing. And 
' why, may I ask, is the name of my ward dragged into 
I this matter? (Crosses back of table to sofa.) 
I Gordon. For reasons of my own. You were adminis- 
i trator of his father's estate, were you not, and after his 
i, death became trustee for his son's money? The iniprac- 
I tical father, regretting his own lack of business, and be- 



58 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

lieving that his son inherited the characteristic, put you in 
charge until his son!s twenty-fifth birthday? 

Norton (at sofa). Quite so. 

Gordon. Very well. I have come to my point. William 
Gordon reached his twenty-fifth birthday yesterday and I 
ask that his possessions be handed over to me. 

Norton. How dare you insult me with your insolence? 
What do you mean by discussing my private afifairs ? What 
right have you to use the name of William Gordon? 

Gordon. The best right in the world, for I am William 
Gordon ! 

Norton. You? You? Ridiculous. What insane idea has 
taken possession of your brain? 

Gordon. I'm not through. I've lived most of my life 
in Paris ; in college. I became interested in sociology, and 
knowing that I had a share in your factory, I came on to 
study the conditions, and, incidentally, to watch after my 
own interests. As foreman I have done this, and now as 
part owner in this enterprise, I want a hand in the man- 
agement. 

Norton. Not so fast, young man. 

Gordon. You still doubt my identity? 

Norton. No. I'll grant it. 

Gordon. Then I demand that — 

Norton. Demand, demand — you ! Demand what? You 
talk so confidently about your interests. Go back to your 
foreman job, stick to it, for if you are William Gordon, 
all you have on earth is a box full of old copper stock 
that isn't worth a farthing. Interest in the factory. Don't 
you know, you young idiot, that your father sold out his 
small share just before his death? That all you had was 
invested in good-for-nothing stacks of paper. {Crosses to 
R. by desk.) 

Gordon (leaning on table). Good-for-nothing stacks of 
paper. And I have received the same income as before 
my father's death. (Turns.) Worthless stocks do not pay 
dividends, Mr. Norton. How do you explain the fact that 
the payments have come to me regularly? 

Norton. Explanations are sometimes brutal. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 59 

Gordon. I repeat my question. 

Norton {in back of chair R. of table). Shall I answer 
it? 

Gordon. Immediately ! 

Norton. Then, I sent the money! 

Gordon. You ? I do not understand. 

Norton. It was my money, my money, charity money if 
you will, given to the son of my old friend. How do you 
like that Foreman Clay? {Crosses to L.) 

Gordon. It's a lie! (Norton stops threateningly.) I 
repeat it, Mr. Norton ; it's a lie. I may not be so keen as 
you in business, underhanded business ; but I'm after my 
rights, and I'll never stop until I've gained them. Justice 
is on my side and justice will prevail. Youth is on my 
side and youth will conquer. So you think the matter of 
the strike is settled? Do you think the fight is over? I 
warn you, Mr. Norton, and I warn you again. It's just 
begun! {Exit C. in F. Norton stands looking after him, 
then goes out C. in F. Nan comes slowly forzvard and 
seats herself on sofa.) 

Enter Margaret almost immediately, R. U. E. Goes 
behind Nan and puts her arm around her neck. 

Margaret. Oh, Nan, Nan, isn't it the beautiful-est 
world that ever was ? The sky is so blue, the sun is so bright 
and the telephone's going to ring in just a moment! 

Nan {turning). So this is the test your friendship 
would stand ! This is the love you promised me ! This is 
the help you would give ''if ever the time came." 

Margaret {standing at back). Nan! 

Nan. You knew that I'd starved for beautiful things 
all my life; that I'd longed for love beyond all else, and 
just when it was within my grasp you snatched it away! 
Gordon's mine is mine! Do you hear? 

Margaret. Gordon ! Oh, Nan, I didn't know ; I didn't 
know. How could I? 

Nan. He is no more to you than a dozen other lovers. 
He's everything to me. He — 

Margaret. How dare you say such things to me — how 



60 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

dare you ? I have a right to happiness as well as you ! I 
have a right to love and to choose my lover! 

Nan. You've had so much and I so little. Oh, Mar- 
garet, Margaret, show that friendship can be unselfish; 
that love is sacrifice and give him up! 

Margaret {leaning back of chair L. of table). Give up 
Gordon ! Oh, Nan, you can't ask it ! Why, it would be like 
giving up my life. 

Nan. There are so many richer, cleverer, greater, that 
you might have, and if you did not hold him, he would 
turn to me. Oh, Margaret, I'm begging you for happiness, 
for happiness, and it rests with you — to give it. 

Margaret. It rests with me — with me. Oh, Nan, I 
can't, I can't! {Hides face in arms.) 

Nan. Then it's to be as it always has been. I am to 
struggle on — alone. I am to be denied the good and the 
beautiful. (Bitterly) Oh, friendship, what a mockery you 
are. Oh, love, how empty are your promises ! Oh Giver 
of Dreams, why have you passed me by? 

{Pause. Telephone rings. Margaret starts fonvard 
eagerly, hesitates, then slowly makes her zvay to Nan and 
takes her hand.) 

Curtain. 



Act III. 



Scene: Sun-parlor of the Norton home. Wide door C. 
in F. showing room beyond. Palms R. of C. in P. and L. of \ 
C. in P. Table zvith punch bozvl L. of C. near P. Sofa down 
L. Large chair R. of C. Round table zmth bowl of flowers 
down C. Stool L. of table. Statue of Minerva R. 2 E. 
Statue of Venus L. 2 E. Practical door R. U. E. 

Stage clear at rise. Enter Nora R. U. E. with tray of ' 
punch glasses. She crosses room and places tray on table 
L. of C. in P. 

Nora {at table). . And begorry, I'm tired! Sure and 
I've been on a trot all this Christmas day! But it pays, 
seein' them all bavin' such a foine toime in yonder. {Look- 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 61 

ing out of door) Now just look at Miss Margaret, ain't 
she the darlint ! And Miss Doris, talkin' loike "her tongue 
was hung in the middle and worked at both ends — and that 
fool English Lord, niver takin' his eyes off her ! And Miss 
Emmy Lou, lookin' so solemn loike, bless the baby. Th.en 

' Miss Delphine {sighing deeply and shaking her head), oh, 
there's all kinds of quare doin's at this Norton house. Fm 
a thinkin' that Minerva goddess has bewitched us all, bad 
'cess to her! Sure and she has the evil eye (crossing her- 
self). Even Miss Peggy with her old Blueing book, the 

■■ swate child, she don't know what she's talking about either. 
And poor Captain IHlly ! Faith and Fm wonderin' what'll 
become of us all, may the saints preserve us ! (Exit R. U. 
E.) 

I Enter Doris and Boc C. in F. Doris comes doivn C. hold- 
I ing up torn gozvn, followed by Bob. 

. Bob (zvhistling). My, but you've been having a ripping 
I time ! 

' Doris (at sofa). Been on a perfect tear all evening. 
• (Turns). Got any pins, class pins, frat pins, clothes pins, 
{■ safety pins, any old kind of pins? That cross-eyed man 
i caused all this havoc. He just came to my shoulder, and we 
i looked like Texas and Rhode Island together. Oh, I always 
I get home in rags and tags. Fm not meant for a ball room. 
I Give me a short skirt and put me on the golf links ! 
I Bob (going to punch bowl). Calm yourself. Atlanta and 
' let me get you some punch. (Advances with glass.) Flere, 
1 "drink, pretty creature, drink." 

' Doris. Get sonie yourself and we'll be sociable. (Bob 
1 fills a glass for himself.) Come on, sit down here and we'll 
: have a toast. What shall it be ? (Seats herself on sofa.) 
j Bob. To you fair maid! (Sits beside her). 

Doris. Cut it out, compliments don't go with me. 

Bob. And you a woman. 

Doris (looking at statne). Let's say to Minerva! 

Bob (rising). Never! 

Doris. What have you against her! Nice old lady; 
she'd make a golf fiend if she'd live in the proper age. 



62 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Bob (turning). Let's propitiate Venus and ask her help 
for all those in need of her. 

Doris (touching her glass to his). Hope I'll never need 
her help, don't think much of her myself but just as you 
say. (Drinks.) It's beginning- to work, Bob! It's begin- 
ning to work ! 

Bob (sitting). What, the punch? 

Doris. Talk about stupidity. Some men never get be- 
yond the kindergarten period and must be shown by beads 
and blocks. In w^ords of one syllable for young readers — 
she's jealous ! 

Bob. There's where you guess again. The new woman 
doesn't get jealous, "she has only psychic interest and — " 

Doris (disgustedly). Stuff and nonsense. The new 
woman is like the old woman, the primitive woman, the 
woman of all ages and all time and the green-eyed monster 
is the best weapon with wdiich to fight her. 

Bob. If I only knew that. 

Doris. There you are again, if you only knew. Why 
don't you find out ? Listen here, haven't you ever heard that 
like cures like? Throw woman's rights at her in huge 
chunks, talk in her own lingo and you'll see ! 

Enter Billy C. in F. 

Doris. Yes Billy (rises), here I am, slightly disfigured 
but still in the ring. (Takes his arm.) Don't catch your 
foot in this or you're a goner. (Turning) Bob, you're al- 
most at the last hole in the links. Don't get flustered. Keep 
your eye on the goal : get a firm hold, resolve to do or die. 
Take a long breath and let her go! Do you understand 
what I mean? Come on Billy. (Exeunt Doris a)id Billy 
C. in F.) 

Enter Delphi ne R. U. E. 

Delphine. Oh, here you are ? 

Bob. Very much here; come on and keep me company. 

Delphine (sarcastically). Isn't it strange that my value 
increases when the adored one is not at hand. 

Bob. Not strange at all. If you can't get what you want, 
want what you can get. 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 63 

Delphine. Bob! {Seats herself on sofa L.) 

Bob {taking stool and crossing to her). Del, I've been 
thinking it over and I believe you're right about this woman 
movement. I must grant that the woman of today has ac- 
quired a keener personal consciousness, has got beyond the 
stolid stage and finds consciousness beginning to demand a 
radical and fundamental alteration of environment. {Seats 
himself. ) 

Delphine. Bob, let's not talk about that, why it's Christ- 
mas and — 

Bob. But it's the subject nearest your heart, isn't it? 
Therefore you shall teach me and I shall try to understand. 
Does the agitation of the question simply imply an increase 
of the social consciousness or would you trace it to the 
growth of individualism? 

Delphine. I hate the woman movement, I despise it. 

Bob {dreamily looking into space). I am gazing into an 
illimitable future. 

Delphine. Don't do it, you might get cross-eyed. 

Bob {repeating). I am gazing into an illimitable future. 

Delphine. Oh, Bob, how mean of you, when there's 
something near at hand, very much better to gaze upon. 

Bob. a future where progress shall not be warped and 
hindered by the retarding influence of surviving rudi- 
mentary forces. 

Delphine. Bob, don't! {Bitterly.) Oh, everything is 
so different from other Christmas days. 

Bob. And must be different. You have chosen your 
way ; I have chosen mine and the path divides. I had hoped 
and dreamed better things for I've loved and wanted you 
ever since the boy and girl days when I fought your battles 
and you gave me a bite of your apple. Poor as I am, Del, 
I had planned to ask you for yourself as a Christmas pres- 
ent, but — 

Delphine {eagerly). But what? 

Bob. I must not interfere with your career. {He rises 
and walks to L.) 

Delphine {rising). I haven't any career. I don't want 
any. Oh, Bob — {Holds out hands.) 



64 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Bob (leaning on sofa). You must not worry about me. 
I'll be a man in spite of it all and when you have won 
laurels in your chosen work, I'll try to rejoice in your gain 
and not to think about my loss. Merry Christmas little girl 
and lots of them. (Exit C. in F.) 

Enter Margaret R. U. E. Delphixe sits zvith head in 
hands. 

Margaret (coming to her). Del, Del, why is Gordon 
Clay here? 

Delphine {abstractedly}. Gordon Clay, Gordon Clay? 
Oh, the good looking foreman ! Dad insisted on my ask- 
ing him, I don't know why, so I did. (Sarcastically). I 
think I'll request him to be nice to Doris, she might feel 
lonely. (Exit K. U. E.) 

Enter Gordon C. in F. 

Gordon (coming to her). Margaret, Margaret — 

Margaret {putting out hand). Don't Gordon, oh, please 
don't come any nearer. 

Gordon. When I've longed for you, starved for you, 
loved you until — 

Margaret (sitting K. of C). Why have you come to- 
night ? 

Gordon (crossing to table) . Why indeed ! Do you think 
I would have entered the house of this man, if I had not 
been desperate for a sight of you, a word with you. 

Margaret. Oh, Gordon, if — 

Gordon (standing L. of table). Yesterday 1 was the 
happiest fellow in the world, for I was sure that I had your 
love ; then I telephoned and you would not answer. 

Margaret. I couldn't, I couldn't. Can't you see how 
all this is hurting me? 

Gordon. And what of me? Am I to have no explana- 
tion, have I no right to know why — 

Margaret (rising). I can't explain. Something has 
happened, that's all and it's good-bye, Gordon. 

Gordon (quickly). Something has happened ; since when ? 

Margaret. Since yesterday, since I saw you ! 

Gordon. Oh, I begin to understand. You knozu then. 



THE DREAM THAT CAAIE TRUE. 65 

Margaret. Yes, I know. 

Gordon. And you say this to me? You tell me that 
your love is measured by dollars and cents, by my wretched 
money ? I don't understand. Margaret, I don't understand, 
for you loved me as the struggling- foreman, before you 
knew of my inheritance and now that the inheritance is 
swept away — 

Margaret. Inheritance? Money? I don't know what 
you mean, I — you're dreaming, Gordon. 

Gordon (bitterly). No, never again. I've awakened; 
and I've awakened" to the fact that love is mercenary, that 
faith is a disillusion, that human happiness is but a mockery. 
(Exit C. in F.) 

Enter Bob C. in F. Stands, looking after Gordon. 

Bob. Margaret, what has that fellow been saying to you ? 

Margaret. Nothing at all to make you frown, Bobbie. 

Bob. Sure? (Crosses to her.) 

Margaret (seating herself i)i chair). Sure. Don't 
worry dear for I'm just trying to put together Life's pic- 
ture puzzle and some of the parts don't fit. 

Bob. Two heads are better than one in picture puzzles. 
Come, sis, let me help you find the fragments. (Sits on 
arm of chair.) 

Margaret. Haven't you always helped me? The sky 
never showed continuous blue until your magic finger found 
the missing part; the picture itself never took definite form 
until you gathered together the elusive bits. Oh, Bob you 
were an adorable brother and you've never quite outgrown it. 

Bob (putting arm around her). Dear little sis, we've al- 
ready filled in the gay colored background of childhood, 
piece by piece ; now we're finding that the pieces are notched 
and jagged and that sometimes we cannot make them fit. 

Margaret. And we must find the missing fragments 
ourselves. It's a hard place I've come to, I'm a little dis- 
couraged now, but I must work out my own salvation ; and 
oh. Bobby boy, I must work it out alone. 

Bob. Alone? Oh, Margaret that hurts, we've never had 
that word in our vocabulary ; it's always been together. 



66 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

Margaret {leaning head against him). You don't under- 
stand. Why I couldn't do without you. It would be like 
groping in the dark. But I've grown up, Bobbie dear, and 
as a woman I must stand my own ground. 

Bob. Margaret, why have you loved this man, why — 

Margaret. Why? There is no reason. If there were, 
it wouldn't be love, would it ? 

Bob. And that you should suffer and I powerless to — 

Margaret. Hush Bob, for back of the pain is the divine 
joy ; back of the bitterness is the sweetness ; back of the 
heartache is the memory. (Pause.) 

Bob. Oh little girl of long ago, with your yellow curls 
and your eyes of blue, you are slipping away from me and 
in your place has come a somebody whom I cannot under- 
stand. 

Margaret. Oh, little boy, I used to know, with your 
fearless eyes and dauntless courage, a mist is creeping be- 
tween us but I shall hold you fast, I shall hold you fast ! 

Bob. If the mist is only that of years, we have nothing 
to fear, for love is stronger than time; if it be the mist 
of sadness or sorrow, we feel that someday the sunshine 
will clear it away ; if it be the mist of separation, we know 
that the bond will be stronger, truer and tenderer still. Oh, 
sis, whatever be the mist, it can never become so dense 
that we lose sight of each other. 

Margaret (rising). Oh, Bobbie, I'm almost crying and 
I must smile on Christmas day. 

Bob. For Christmas light means happiness. Margaret, 
as children, we always stood before the old fireplace and 
made our Christmas wish. Do you remember ? (Rises and 
puts arm about her.) 

Margaret (softly). And what shall the wish be tonight? 

Bob. Only this, that on Christmas day of the coming 
year, of the year to follow, of all the years to be, we shall 
stand together. Come. (Exeunt Bob and Margaret R. 
U. E.) 

Enter Peggy C. in F. 

Peggy (coming dozvn C). Oh, I can't stand it any longer! 
I'm so miserable, so unhappy ! 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 67 

Enter Emmy Lou C. in F. 

Emmy Lou. Peggy, someone is looking for you 

Peggy {turning). Tell him Em sick, dead, gone any- 
thing Emmy Lou. Oh, I can't go. 

Emmy Lou {coming closer). Why Peggy dear, what is 
the matter ? 

Peggy {zvith an effort). Nothing, why nothing. Fm 
happy Emmy Lou, so happy ! Why shouldn't I be ? Haven't 
I everything to make me happy ? 

Emmy Lou. You said you'd never be perfectly happy 
until you had that new edition of Browning. 

Peggy. Browning? I hate him, oh, I wish Ed never 
{calming herself). Run on Emmy Lou. Em just tired 
and oh, I've had such a beautiful 'time tonight. {Pushes 
her out.) Go on, Ell be out in a minute. Go on. {Exit 
Emmy Lou C. in F.) Oh, how can I laugh and talk and 
dance when Em so wretched and miserable.^ He's out there 

now with Doris and he hasn't even looked at me. And but 

I don't care. Let him go with whom he wishes. {Sits on 
sofa.) But I do care, I do care, more than anything else 
in the world and Eve let that dreadful Browning part us 
and — {Puts her heqd on her arms.) 

Enter Billy C. in F. Goes to sofa. 

Peggy {jumping up). Why Billy! I was so worn out 
that I ran in to rest. Why I haven't even said ''Merry 
Christmas" to you and Eve been so happy all day. And 
tonight, Eve never had such a good time, have you? 

Billy {glumly). Eve never had a worse! 

Peggy (sarcastically). Well, you seemed to be enjoying 
yourself. 

Billy {taking book from pocket). Now see here Peggy, 
we might as well have this out right now. You know just 
how much I love you. (Peggy ^shakes head.) Oh, don't 
shake your head! You know, for Eve never been clever 
enough to hide it. Eve done my best for you, Peggy, Eve 
tried to make myself a man you could respect and I've been 
honorable as far as I know. Eve made many a thirty yard 
dash for you — many a touchdown ; and Eve tried never to 



68 THE DREA.M JTLA'r CAME TRUE. 

fumble the ball. TUit there's one thing- 1 can't do and that's 
kick goal ; for Browning is between us and I can't kick over 
him. Peggy it isn't fair to judge me by my ignorance of 
•Browning. There are many more important things in life 
for me to learn and I'll be honest with you. I don't w^ant 
to learn him and I can't learn him and if he still keeps us 
apart, why, well I'll say good-bye, Peggy. (Hands her 
the copy of Browning. Pegc.y hesitates, takes it, places it 
firmly on the floor and kicks it squarely. ) 

Billy {rapturously). Peggy, do you mean it? (Holds 
out his anus and Peggy rushes into them. ) 

Enter Lord Algernon and Doris C. in F. They pause 
at door. 

Lord Algernon. Bah Jove, someone already here, beast- 
ly bore, don't you know? (Peggy and Ihu.v catch sight of 
them and hastily rush out L. 2 E.) 

Doris {coming doivn C. and looking after them). Oh, 
oh, is it really so ? Oh, look, Lord Algernon, look ! Great- 
est game of the season, Billy versus drowning ! Score 20 to 
0, in favor of Billy. (Lord Algernon is silent.) Why 
don't you yell, man ? 

Lord Algernon {purjded). Ah, yes, quite so, ali — I don't 
quite catch your meaning — 

Doris. Can't you ever see anything, unless it's pointed 
out to you? 

Lord Algernon. Fancy now — 

Doris. Fancy nothing. Billy's won out, I say. {Dis- 
gustedly.) Gotten his girl — 

Lord Algernon. Ah, yes, I begin to understand— 
(laughs) bah, Jove! That's corking. {Takes book ' and 
-ccrites.) And we were what your charming American lan- 
guage calls {referring to book) butting in? {Laughs.) 

Doris {sitting on sofa). Mercy are you just catching 
on to that? Why don't you be original' and if you can't 
speak English, make signs! If I couldn't be the noise it- 
self, I wouldn't try to be the echo. {Silence for a mo- 
ment). Well, why don't you say something? 



THE DREAM THAT CAME IRUE. 69 

Lord Algernon. Isn't it ripping to be here all by onr- 
selves? 

Doris. Oh, I don't know, rather nionotunuus, 1 like 
crowds myself. {Silence again.) 

Lord Algernon. Miss Doris, Lve been thinking — 

Doris. Fancy now ! Keep it np, you can stand a lot — 

Lord Algernon. That our friendship has begun to — 

Doris {yazviiing). Odd, isn't it, how sleepy you get, when 
you're not particularly interested. 

Lord Algernon {agitated). 1 desire — in fact, I — 
I — bah Jove, can't we — 

Doris. Sit out this dance ? Oh, I really prefer to, it's 
half over anyway. 

Lord Algernon. Bah, Jove, I believe you're trifling with 
me — ■ 

Doris. Trifling with you? \\'hy bless your heart, cliild — 

Lord Algernon (rising). A man can't stand everxthing. 
(.Ui-i'ances to front of stage, back to Doris.) 

Doris. Come sit down then. (Lord Algernon pays no 
attention.) Lord Algernon? (No anszver.) Lord Algy? 

Lord Algernon (sulkily). Well? 

Doris. Come back, just a moment, please, please. L've 
something to say to you. 

Lord Algernon (turning eagerly). Ah, bah Jove, you 
mean that you wdll let me (referring to book) win out? 
(Spreads liandkercJiief and kneels before her. ) 

Doris. Not so fast. Lord Algernon, not so fast. You're 
a dear little, sweet little English Lord and I like you, honest 
I do, there's my hand on it. (Offers hand.) But I want 
to, be under the stars and stripes. (Rises.) I want to hear 
the eagle screaming and Lm going to be true to Uncle Sam ! 
,Come on. (Exeunt Lord Algernon zcith Doris C. in F.) 

! Enter Emmy Lou R. U. E. zvith her arms full of fiozvers, 
\crosses to statue of Venus. 

Enter Delpiiine R. U. E. unseen by Emmy Lou. 
, Emmy Lou (kneeling). Oh, Venus, \^enus. Ell try you 
j:)nce more and you must give the princess to Mr. Bob, you 
must, you must ! See Eve brought you flowers and Eve been 



70 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



true to you and I don't love Minerva any more! I Promise 
to be loyal and I'll bring you flowers every day and i 11, oh, 
Venus, Venus, grant that Mr. Bob may wm the prmcess, 
make her love him, make her love hmi ! 

Delphine (crossing). Emmy Lou, what do you mean, 

who is the princess? ^r t^ i i i 

Emmy Lou (rising). Someone that Mr. Bob loves and 

she's cruel and won't love him and I'm asking \ enus to help. 
Delphine. But Emmy Lou, Bob loves mc. 
Emmy Lou You, you ? And you won't love him ^ LLow 

dare you treat Mr. Bob like that? It's mean of you, you 

sha nt 

Delphine (putting arm around her). You don't under- 
stand dear. ^ , ^ , t.- tvt- 

Emmy Lou (stamping foot). I do, I do. Its Mmerva, 
isn't it^ (Points to statue.) Oh, I hate her, I hate her. 
Delphine, love Venus instead. Listen, suppose you don t 
marry you'll grow old and ugly and lonesome and there 11 
be nobody to take care of you. How can you thmk of it 
when you might have Bob always and always. ( it istfuliy.) 
I don't know of anything more beautiful than that. 

Delphine. W'ould you have me false to my principles? 
Emmy Lou. Women change their minds sometimes, don't 
they? Do you love Minerva better than you love Bob? 
(Delphine is silent. Emmy Lou takes her by the hand and 
pulls her tozvard the statue of Venus.) Oh, Venus, Venus, 
she's coming, she's coming, she's almost here. It's the prin- 
cess, A'enus, the princess ! 

Bob enters C. in F. unseen by either. 
Emmy Lou. She loves the prince and she will be good and 
they are going to live happily forever after. (She looks\ 
around, sees Bob. rushes to him, hugs him violently and] 
leaves the room C. in F.) \ 

Bob (advancing hastily). Del? ' 

Delphine. Oh, Bob, here's your Christmas gift ! (Bob 
puts arm around her. Exeunt L. 2 E.) 

Enter Norton followed by Gordon. 
Norton (comes dozvn C. to table). I am glad my dear 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 



71 



Gordon, to see that you harbor no ill feeling; that you ac- 
cept the inevitable and have joined in our merry makinir 
tonight. ^ 

Gordon (crossing to back of sofa). You mistake my 
motive Mr. Norton. I have not forgotten nor forgiven and 
1 should never have entered this house, had there not been 
another reason. 

Norton (crossing to Gordon). Come, come, my dear 
boy, don t be impractical ; forget our little controversy of 
yesterday and start in on a friendly basis. Your investments 
were unfortunate, the shrewdest of us make mistakes ; the 
money from my own income has been given gladly and will- 
ingly, not only for your father's sake, but because as ad- 
ministrator, I felt in some way responsible for results. Come 
give me your hand and let bygones be bygones. (Holds out 
hand.) 

^ Gordon (ignoring it). I can't, Mr. Norton, I can't, for 
in some way I feel that your hand has been instrumental 
m doing me harm. 

Norton. You're morbid, my boy; you're like your fa- 
ther; not fitted for business. Here, if you won't take my 
word, read your father's letter to me in regard to dispos- 
ing of his interest in the works (Gordon takes letter), it's 
genuine isn't it? (Gordon nods.) And here you will find 
the detailed account of my stewardship, the necessary data 
that will stand behind my actions. (Hands memorandum.) 
Enter Nan R. U. E. 
Nan. Mr. Norton, may I have a moment? 
I Norton (turning). Certainly not. Miss Worthington, 
I'Tiy business with Mr. Clay is of a personal and private na- 
Iture. 

j Nan (coming down R. to chair). Which is known to me, 
bf which I have an intimate understanding. 

Norton (^;z^^rmo7y). So eaves-dropping is one of the 
nany sterling qualities that my secretary possesses. As I 
top to consider it Clay, it was on your recommendation 
hat this girl came to me. I begin to see it all. 
^ Nan. Your business now, Mr. Norton, is not with Mr. 
Llay but with me ; and concerning his afifairs and mine. 



72 THE DREAM THAT CANU- TRUE. 

NORTON (tkrcatcnugly) Look 1-'- S'-'l; I^'e ^tood this 
effrontery, this audacity of yours long cnougli. I m thi ou,n 

-t^. S;f:J,SV'^Mr. S^rton you- (C>.... .- 

^mi (resting on arm of chmr). Let us suppose that the 

storv concerning the desire of your partner to dispose of h s 

f^torv shares is true. You forgot to mention that prevlou^ 

o tlte retipt of Itis letter, you yourself had invested heav- 

Wn copper stock. Let us assume, for the argument tha 

migrans erred these very shares to your friend, who, if 1 

^emeXrth'e letter corre'ctly, .lesired to invest m this same 

'' Norton. And if I had, the transfer, would have been 

'"f^. 'fen-^inly, I grant that. But your """^ f'-btless 
became confused at this point, for close upon thi. lette 
askiu"- you to sell his shares and to invest the proceeds, y.nn 
partner wrote another which countermanded the order_ 
'Norton (advancing to tabic). It's a he a he and if you 
think you can threaten me, I'll show you that— 

N ^i But it isn't a lie. Look ( produces letter) , here s 
the letter in Mr. Gordon's handwriting which I founc safely 
hidden behind a drawer in your desk, haunting you all these 
vears with the fear that some day it woukl confront you with 
the proof of your dishonesty, would taunt you with the 
shame oi a trust betrayed. 

Norton (angril\^^. I will not listen to you. 
Nan "Wait Even as clever a business man as you. Mi. 
Norton, sometimes forgets and grows careless; for you 
failed to destroy that letter at the time it came, bate in- 
terfered, spirited it away and all these years it has been wait- 
ing for revenge. 

Norton. Wait— . , 

N\N The date of the lost letter is June H- 'he 
date of the transferrence of the stock is September 6th ot 
the same year. -\nd the date of Mr. Gordon's death is 
Tuly 12 Do you understand the significance of my memor- 
kndum on the three dates, Mr. Norton, or shall I add that 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. n 

the stock was transferred after the letter countermanding 
Its purchase was received and lost and also after the death 
of your friend ? 

NoRTON.^ And do you suppose that I will listen to— 
Nan. I'm not through. Copper stock was going down 
at that tmie, you realized that it would mean your ruin, so 
you filed your report as administrator crediting the son with 
your own worthless stock and keeping for yourself his share 
of the factory. If the letter had not been discovered, you 
would have lived secure in the public eye with only your 
inner self to reproach you with the betrayal of the trust of 
a friend. 

Norton (sitting on sofa). You can do nothing. It is 
' only a threat. 

j Nan (rising and crossing to L. of tabic). I have the 
I memorandum. ^ I have the letter. You are in the shadow of 
(the law, Mr. Norton. You have used your ward's moi,iey 
J to retrieve your own fortunes and you were a coward with 
jt all, for you w^ere afraid to tell him and you thought that 
I if the regular payments reached him, he would never sus- 
pect. This very fear was your undoing for it is not very 
(likely that from the generosity of your own heart you sent 
ithe liberal allowance that has been his without question, 
.without stint. Is your position clear, do you realize that a 
jpublic statement of your misdeeds would bring you into the 
|:ourt of justice? 

j Norton (with head in hands). You've beaten me, fool 
i:hat I was, you've gained the upper hand. Well, what will 
j/ou do, what do you want? 

I Gordon (advancing to Nan.) Mr. Norton, I'm sorry, 
|)Ut I don't know what to say. Miss Worthington had been 
^1 he master hand in this afifair and she alone shall arrange 

he terms of settlement. 
. Nan (turning). You mean it, Gordon? 
I Gordon. I mean it. Nan. 

1 Nan. Then first, with, your permission, I shall settle my 
I'wn claim. Long ago, Mr. Norton, I came to you, a fac- 
tory girl, to ask a favor. My brother was one of your many 
iborers and proper sanitation in his work room would have 



74 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

saved his life. (Norton draws back.) Ah, you shrink. 
Now you remember the face that has haunted you for days. 
You laughed, you refused, you sent me away with but one 
desire in my heart— revenge. All these years I have cher- 
ished it, prayed for it and my day has come. 

Norton. Gordon, how can you put my future into this 
girl's hands ? She's mad, she's — 

Nan. I'm not through, Mr. Norton, for I'm standing 
here to dictate what you shall do— I, the factory girl, I, the 
creature, whose brother was not worth a snap of your 
fingers. What do I ask you? First, that you restore to 
William Gordon his rightful inheritance. You agree? (Nor- 
ton nods.) Then that you raise immediately the present 
strike, granting the workmen what they demand, better con- 
ditions and better wage. And then — 

Norton. You will not prosecute, you will not satisfy that 
grudge of yours? 

Nan. And then, I shall restore you to your family with- 
out a breath of publicity, without a word of scandal, secure 
in the knowledge that only Gordon and I know your secret 
and that we shall never tell. Ah, this is my revenge, Mr. 
Norton, far different from what I had planned, had dreamed 
of, far different from the ruin I had hoped might overtake 
you. The factory girl can be generous. You crushed her 
spirit, you killed her brother but you couldn't kill her soul 
and today she gives you back to yourself, to the future it lies 
with you to make. (Norton rises, goes slowly to C. in F., 
stops, and holds out his hand. Nan hesitates, then takes 
it. Exit Norton C. in F.) 

Gordon (seimng her Jiands). Nan, dear Nan, what can 
I say, what can I do? 

Nan (drazving back). Don't Gordon, don't. I want 
only one thing, your friendship, oh, don't say any more, I 
cannot stand it tonight. Listen, the leaders of the strike are 
around the house, they threaten to fire it. Can you hold 
them with promises till I come to verify them? It will not 
be long. And then, will you make me one promise? Go 
to Margaret. Oh, it will be all right and I'm glad for you. 
(Exit Gordon C. in F.) 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 75 

Enter Margaret R. U. E. 

Nan {advancing to meet her). Margaret, do you know 
why i asked you to come here? 

Margaret. No, Nan, but there are so many things these 
days that I don t understand. We're never through school, 
are we ? Life gives us far harder problems than are ever 
found between our book covers. 

Nan {leading her to chair down R.). I lay awake all 
night, Margaret, pondering my own particular problem and 
when daylight came, it brought me peace and understand- 
ing We'll forget yesterday. It was one of the unhappy 
incidents that come without our bidding, that pass before 
we can meet it wisely and sanely. 

_ Margaret {seating herself). Let's say no more about 
It Nan for it's hard for you and it's hard for me. 

Nan {kneeling by her). But I must straighten the threads 
which I have so heedlessly tangled. I must make return 
for the beautiful loyalty you have given me. Oh, Margaret, 
whatever happens, I shall have that to remember. 

Margaret {putting her arms about her). Nan, Nan. 

Nan. Listen. Shall I tell you what my lesson has 
taught me ? Shall I pass on the philosophy that came to me 
while I held vigil with myself? 

Margaret. Not if it troubles you. 

Nan. I'm past that forever, for I have learned that we 
do not always get what we most desire, that we break our 
hearts trying to keep that which was never meant for us, 
to which we have no right. 

Margaret. The things that are ours, can never leave us. 
.Nan. Gordon's love was not mine, could never have been 
mine and yet, I lost sight of everything else in my blind 
g-roping after the unattainable. Al{ Margaret, how foolish 
1 was, how little I realized that love in it's broadest, greatest 
Tieaning, was mine for the asking — the love of humanity — 
that happiness, true happiness would come to me from the 
happiness I gave others. 

Margaret. But Nan, the dream, the dream. 

Nan. The dream is still there. I think it will always be 



76 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 

in my heart, and some day, I know it. I feel it, I shall come 

into my own. .,, 

Margaret. Oh Nan, I pray that you will— 
Nan (rising). Meanwhile I shall learn to wait. 1 shall 
seek the wonderful way of Hfe through self-forget ulness 
ami happiness will come my way. {Lights go out, stage m 
^kl^.) Don't be frightened Margaret, f^Vell Listen 
without They have cut the wires but all is well. Listen 
de it is darkLss now but if you will only wait and dreai. 
wheA the light comes again, the dream will ome true. 
(Exit Nan L. 2 E.) 

Silence-stage clear for a few minutes. Then Gordon 
enters and strikes a match. 

Gordon (calling). Margaret^ (Holding match, he 
makes his ivay toward her.) 

Curtain. 



Lexington 



By E. J. WHISLER. 
Price, 25 Cents 

Drama of the Revolutionary war, 4 acts; males, 4 females. 
Time, 2^^ hours. Scenes: 2 interiors, 1 exterior. Characters: 
Paul Revere, a patriot. Leslie, his friend. Cottrell. an innkeeper. 
Curtis, a blacksmith. Snaggsby, the village toper. Willoughby, 
Fairfield and Ogline, British soldiers. Remus, a darky servant. 
Dorothy, Paul's betrothed. Mrs. Maddern, her mother. Pollv, 
Dorothy's friend. Matilda, a colored servant. 
SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Snaggsby is refused liquor at the ale house. Dorothy 
learns a new song. Snaggsby sells the secret of the powder. 
Paul and Dorothy quarrel. Curtis refuses to serve the British. 
"I'll show you whether you will shoe my horse or not!" Paul to 
his assistance. "If you harm one hair of her head, I'll kill you!" 

Act II. — "Polly, take care of my girl." Paul discovers Snaggs- 
by's treachery. "I could kill you." Paul plans to checkmate the 
British. "If I can prevent it you will not take that ride." 

Act III. — Scene I: The ambush. "Take Revere, dead or alive." 
The signal. "In the king's name, surrender." Fairfield is killed. 
"The war is on!" The pursuit. 

Act III. — Scene II: A call in the night. "To arms, minute 
men!" Paul is pursued by the British. The knock at the door. 
"Let me save you." The discovery. "Oh, you have killed him!" 
Dorothy plans for Revere's escape. Leslie to the rescue. "I am 
going to finish Revere's side and save him!" 

Act IV. — Curtis is wounded. Paul and Dorothy are reconciled. 
"I love you more than my own soul!" The death of Curtis. "An- 
otlier martyr." Willoughby attempts Revere's life. "You are a 
prisoner of war." 

"We gave 'Lexington' to the largest house ever seen here, 
Wasliington's Birtlidav. It is great." — J. B. Roberts, Greenback, 
Tenn. 

The Fatal Necklace 

By JOSEPH U. HARRIS and HAROLD B. ALLEN. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

A burlesque melodrama; .3 males, 2 females. Time, 25 minutes. 
Characters: The Villain, "Curse Him." The Hero, "Unhand her, 
coward." The Heroine, "I am innocent." The Countess, "Sixteen 
years ago." The Villainess, "Strike her." A full evening melo- 
drama of thrills burlesqued and boiled down to a half hour of 
solid laughter. Can be produced on any platform. 

When the Worm Turned 

By KATHARINE KAVANAUGH. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

Comedy; 2 males, 1 female. Time, 25 minutes. Jenkins, a con- 
vival chap, somewhat under the weather, returns home at a late 
hour and by mistake gets into Peck's house, which adjoins his 
own and falls asleep on the couch. Later he is discovered by 
Peck, a meek little fellow whose wife is domineering and unrea- 
sonably jealous. He sizes up the situation and decides to teach 
her a lesson, hence the w orm turned wath ludicrous results. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Altar of Riches 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy of American finance, 4 acts; 5 males, 5 females. Time, 
2*/^ hours. Scenes: 2 interiors. Characters: Charles Wilberforce, 
a financial king. Samuel Thornton, a AVall street banker. Thomas 
Seward, a jobber on 'Change. Robert Fitzgerald, an attorney. 
Walker, a butler. Gwendolyn Mordaunt Austin, an heiress. Lucile 
Harcourt, a novelist. Harriet Bosworth, of the New York news 
service. Maria Stanford Walton, an unfortunate woman. Made- 
line, a maid. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Madeline objects to being pumped. The letter. "Wil- 
berforce shall be our hero." A newspaper woman on the trail of 
a story. The agreement to fight a battle in Wall street. "Be- 
ware a day of judgment." 

Act II. — The photograph. "Is she not Miss Austin, daughter of 
the Copper King?" Wilberforce avows his love for Gwendolyn. 
"You are a financial Diomedes and who knows I am not Hercules 
destined to bring you to judgment?" The dispatch. Gwendolyn's 
discovery. Her sorrow. "I did not know." 

Act III. — Gwendolyn leases the hotel w'ires and is master of 
the situation. The theft of the letters. The battle on 'Change. 
A light that cost Wilberforce a million. "I have been Ijetrayed. 
Who are you? A woman's victory. "But I saved my father!" 

Act IV. — A stock jobber and novelist agree to unite their forces. 
A generous Wall Street king. The meeting. The rose. "He 
loves me." The reconciliation. Ulysses seeks Calypso. The be- 
trothal. 



The Road A^ent 



By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

A dramatic western playlet; 3 males, 1 female. Time, 30 min- 
utes. The scene is laid in the west and the action deals with the 
fortunes of a woman whose husband, a road agent, is presum- 
ably killed by a Sheriff's posse. She weds thereafter and her for- 
mer husband unexpectedly returns. He is pursued by a Sheriff 
and killed. The Sheriff, who has knowledge of the woman's past, 
preserves silence and her husband is kept in ignorance of her 
secret. A big enough theme for a full evening play. 

Cornelia Pickle, Plaintiff 

By MAYME RIDDLE BITNEY. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

A burlesque trial for ladies; 15 females. Time, 40 minutes. 
Cornelia Pickle, a maiden lady of mature years, is heartbroken 
because the widow Helen Dashing has purloined the affections of 
her first and only admirer, one Josiah Judkins, and sues for dam- 
ages. The case greatly excites the inquisitive instincts of the 
feminine jurors and judge. There are rare touches of humor in 
the testimony for the widow, but "she is very, very nice," also 
in Cornelia's story of the injury and in the lawyer's plea to the 
jury. A clever satire on the new woman which will offend none 
and please all. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Town Marshal 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

A comedy-drama of the rural northwest, 4 acts; 6 males, 3 
females. Time 2^4 hours. Scenes: Easy to set. 2 interiors, 1 ex- 
terior. Characters: Harold Desmond, the town marshal. Mark 
Jamieson, a lawyer of evil tendencies. Uncle Jeb Jenkins, a South 
Dakota farmer. Willis Hartley, a wealthy grain dealer. William 
Torrence, a man with a past. Ikey Levinsky, a Jewish peddler, 
Laura Hartley, a village belle. Mary Ann Hartley, a spinster. 
Lucy Ames, a village hoyden. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act L — Lucy persecuted. Levinsky hears a joke. "You are 
a brave man, Mr. Desmond." The plot. "He bears an assumed 
name!" "I am a man of honor. Farewell!" 

Act II. — Levinsky confides a secret to Jenkins. "I am a Jew 
und I never buys hogs on a Saturday." The quarrel. "My father 
is innocent, though a convict." Jenkins courts Mary Ann. "I 
shall stand before you tomorrow without shame or I shall have 
ceased to live!" 

Act III. — Desmond recognizes his father. "Arrest me, my son, 
it is your duty!" "I shall do my duty and free you!" A woman's 
sorrow. "My heart is breaking!" 

Act IV. — Jenkins pulls Jamieson's nose. "A new sassiety cuss 
word." Laura sees light at last. "He assumed his father's guilt 
to save him." "My faith in you will endure forever!" The be- 
trothal. 

The Hi^h School Freshman 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

High school comedy for boys, 3 acts; 12 males. Time, 2 hours. 
Scene: One set, a hall in a school building. Can be played on 
any platform. Characters: Harry Templeton, a freshman. Will 
Thornton, a senior. Jack Morrell, a football coach. James Clarke, 
a reckless broker's son. Charlie Jackson, a yell master. Sam 
Belton, from the West. Julius Cohen, from the Ghetto. Lew 
Sampson, a tool. Orrie Morton, a young dilettante. Si Harris, a 
country product. Ben Castle, not studious. Ross Finnerty, an 
Irish youngster. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act L— Students discuss the coming football game. "My father 
is a convict!" A true friend. Si Harris makes a discovery. The 
accusation. Search of Templeton's locker. "I am innocent!" 

Act II. — Students gather for practice. Templeton refuses to 
play. Harris saves the day by exposing Clarke's duplicity. "We'll 
will the cup, boys, or die!" 

Act III. — Getting ready for the football game. On the trail of 
the thief. A villain unmasked. The telegram. "My father is in- 
nocent!" The ovation. 

• T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



OCT 23 !318 

A Rustic Romeo 

By WALTER BEN HARE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

A musical comedy in 2 acts. 10 males, 12 females. Only 5 
m. and 1 f. have lines. The rest are in the chorus. It can be 
played by 5 m., 4 f., eliminating the chorus. It will prove equally 
successful when produced without music. Time, 2M hours. Scenes: 
1 exterior, 1 interior. Characters: John Jabe Doolittle, the would- 
be heart smasher of Chowderville. Hink Spinny, who peddles 
tinware, woodenware and hardware everywhere. Sid Roberts, who 
longs for the "Great White Way." Azariah Figg, storekeeper. 
Grandpaw Blue, the oldest inhabitant. Kvalina 'i uppei-, the vil- 
lage belle. Miss Dee, a lovelorn critter. Mrs. Spriggs, looking 
for the third. Honeysuckle Spriggs, her little sunbeam. The 
Chowderville fire brigade and its charming society leaders, con- 
stitute the chorus. Contains ten exceptionally clever songs, hu- 
morous and sentimental. "I Want a Big-Town Girl" is set to 
original music. The remainder are sung to familiar college airs. 
"Pretty Girls," "I'm Falling in Love Again," "Moonlight Sere- 
nade," "John Jabe's Wedding," "Over the Banister," "The Chow- 
der Fire Brigade," "Gay Manhattan," "Love's Waltz" and "On 
the P^ourth of July." A most interesting plot wound about the 
events of a small town, which keeps one's interest keen until 
Figg finally locates his $70.00 and John Jabe gets a wife. This 
play is a decided novelty. Directions are given with the songs, 
explaining in detail how the chorus may l)e drilled to march, form 
figures, pictures, etc., which are very effective, yet in the range 
of amateurs. A clever stage director should make this show equal 
most metropoUtan successes. Especially recommended for col- 
lege productions. Professional stage rights reserved and a royalty 
of five dollars required for amateur performance. 

SYNOPSIS. 
Act I. — Chowderville on a busy day. Honeysuckle and St. 
Cecelia astonish the rubes. The boy whose father was bad. "Do 
I look like a tall-grass sister?" " Miss Dee, a lone, lorn critter, tells 
of the awfulness of the w^orld. The village belle and the Rustic 
Romeo. "Girls, girls, girls!' A matrimonial advertisement from 
a clinging little blonde named Golden-haired Flossie. Hink Spin- 
ney tries to propose to Evalina. "If I only had $70!" Mrs. Spriggs 
astonishes the natives. "I'll make you think a Kansas tornado has 
struck vour town." A moonlight serenade. The robbery. "Who 
stole my $70?" 

Act II. — John Jabe's hotel on the Fourth of July. A country 
wedding. Honeysuckle and the four rubes. "Skidoo is New York 
talk for scat." The Fairfield Road folks com% to the w^edding. 
Miss Dee's wedding present, a bottle of Miggins' Stomach Balm, 
good "fer every ailment in the human cistern." An unwilling 
bridegroom. Figg catches the thief — almost. The Chowder fire 
brigade. A suspicious bride with a temper. Deserted on her 
wedding morn. "We'll be as happ.v as two little twin cubebs." A 
double wedding and divided wedding presents. Figg recovers his 
$70. Patriotic finale: On the Fourth of July. 

"We played 'A Rustic Romeo' a few nights ago to a packed 
house. A dandy play for amateurs." — Tom Conley, Luling, Texas. 



S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS. 

Price 15 Cents Each. Postpaid. Unless Different Price is Given. 



M. F. 

Documentary Evidence, 25 min. 1 1 

Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min..,. 4 2 

Family Strike, 20 min 3 3 

First-Class Hotel, 20 min 4 

For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 

Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 
Fun in a Photograph Gallery, 

30 min 6 10 

Great Doughnut Corporation, 

30 min 3 5 

Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
<ireat Pumpkin Case, 30 min. ..12 

Hans Von Smash, 30 min 4 3 

Happy Pair, 25 min 1 1 

I'm Not Mesilf at All, 25 min. 3 2 
Initiating a Granger, 25 min.. 8 

Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 

Is the Editor In? 20 min...,. 4 2 

Kansas Immigrants, 20 min.... 5 1 

Men Not Wanted, 30 min 8 

Mike Donovan's Courtship, 15 m. 1 3 

Mother Goose's Goslings, 30 m. 7 9 

Mrs. Carver's Fancy Ball, 40 m. 4 3 
Mrs. Stubbins' Book Agent, 30 

min 3 2 

My Lord in Livery, 1 hr 4 3 

My Neighbor's Wife, 45 min... 3 3 

My Turn Next, 45 min 4 3 

My Wife's Relations, 1 hr 4 6 

Not a Man in the House, 40 m. 5 

Obstinate Family, 40 min 3 3 

Only Cold Tea, 20 min 3 3 

Outwitting the Colonel, 25 min. 3 2 

Pair of Lunatics, 20 min 1 1 

Patsy O'Wang, 35 min 4 3 

Pat, the Apothecary, 35 min... 6 2 

Persecuted Dutchman, 30 min.. 6 3 

Regular Fix, 35 min.. 6 4 

Rough Diamond, 40 min .4 o 

Second Childhood, 15 min..... 2 2 

Slasher and Crasher, 50 min... 5 2 

Taking Father's Place, 30 min.. 5 3 

Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 

That Rascal Pat, 30 min 3 2 

Those Red Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 

min 3 6 

Treasure from Egypt, 45 min. 4 1 

Turn Him Out, 35 min 3 2 

Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m.. 4 

Two Bonnycastles, 45 min 3 3 

Two Gentlemen in a Fix, 15 m. 2 

Two Ghosts in White. 20 min.. 8 

Two of a Kind, 40 min 2 3 

Uncle Dick's Mistake, 20 min.. 3 2 

Wanted a Correspondent, 45 m. 4 4 

Wanted a Hero, 20 min 1 1 

Which Will He Marry? 20 min. 2 8 

Who Is Who? 40 min.. ..3 2 

Wide Enough for Two, 45 min. 5 2 

Wrong Baby, 25 min 8 

Yankee Peddler, 1 hr 7 3 



VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES. IV.ON- 
OLOGUES. ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 

M. F. 

Ax'in* Her Father, 25 min 2 3 

Booster Club of Blackville, 25 m.lO 
Breakfast Food for Two, 20m.. 1 1 

Cold Finish, 15 min 2 1 

Coon Creek Courtship, 15 min.. 1 1 
Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m. 14 

Counterfeit Bills, 20 min 1 1 

Doings of a Dude, 20 min 2 1 

Dutch Cocktail, 20 min .2 

Five Minutes from Yell College, 

15 min 2 

For Reform, 20 min 4 

Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min... 2 1 
Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. . 1 1 
Handy Andy (Negro), 12 min.. 2 

Her Hero, 20 min 1 1 

Hey, Rube! 15 min 1 

Home Run, 1 5 min 1 1 

Hot Air, 25 min 2 1 

Jumbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 

Little Red School House, 20 m. 4 

Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 

Marriage and After, 10 min... 1 
Mischievous Nigger, 25 min... 4 2 

Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 1 

Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min.... 1 1 
Mr. Badger's Uppers, 40 min.. 4 2 
One Sweetheart for Two, 20 m. 2 
Oshkosh Next Week, 20 min.. 4 

Oyster Stew, 10 min. 2 

Pete Yansen's Gurl's Moder, 10 

min 1 

Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 

Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 
Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 

Recruiting Office, 15 min 2 

Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 

Si and I, 15 min,. 1 

Special Sale, 15 min 2 

Stage Struck Darky, 10 min... 2 1 
Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min... 1 

Time Table, 20 min 1 1 

Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 
Troubled by Ghosts, 10 min... 4 
Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. 1 
Two Jay Detectives, 15 min... 3 

L^mbrella Mender, 15 min 2 

Uncle Bill at the Vaudeville, 15 

min. 1 

Uncle Jeff, 25 min 5 2 

Who Gits de Reward? 30 min.. 5 1 



A ireat number of 

Standard and Amateur Plays 

not found here are listed in 

Denison's Catalo|{ue. 



T. S. DENISON £i COMPANY, 154 W. Randolph St.. Chicago 



POPULAR ENTERTAIN 

Price, Illustrated Paper Covers 



LIBRPRY OF CONGRESS 




T.S.DENISON 

PUBU»» OOCACO 



this Series 
are found 
books touching 
every feature 
in the enter- 
tainment field. 
Finely made, 
gfood paper, 
clear print and 
each book has 
an attractive 
individual cov- 
er design. 



DIALOGUES 

All Sorts of Dialogues. 

Selected, fine for older pupils. 
Catchy Comic Dialogues. 

New, clever; for young people. 
Children's Comic Dialogues. 

From six to eleven years of age. 
Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen selections. 
The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. 

50,000 copies sold. 
From Tots to Teens. 

Dialogues and recitations. 
Lively Dialogues. 

For all ages; mostly humorous. 
When the Lessons are Over. 

Dialogues, drills, plays. 
Wide Awake Dialodues. 

Brand new, original, successful. 

SPEAKERS. MONOLOGUES 

Choice Pieces for Little People. 

A child's speaker. 

The Comic Entertainer. 

Recitations, monologues, dialogues. 

Dialect Readings. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 

The Favorite Speaker. 

Choice prose and poetry. 

The Friday Afternoon Speaker. 
For pupils of all ages. 

Humorous Monologues. 
Particularly for ladies. 

Monologues for Youn^ Folks. 
Clever, humorous, original. 

The Patriotic Speaker. 

Master thoughts of masterminds. 

The Poetical Entertainer. 
For reading or speaking. 

Pomes ov the Peepul. 

Wit, humor, satire; funny poems. 

Scrap-Book Recitations. 

Choice collections, pathetic, hu- 
morous, descriptive, prose, poe- 
try. 14 Nos., per No. 25c. 




015 863 886 



The Best uriii Book. 

Very popular drills and marches. 
The Favorite Book of Drills. 

Drills that sparkle with originality. 
Little Plays With Drills. 

For children from 6 to 11 years. 
The Surprise Drill Book. 

''Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 

'^ SPECIALTIES 

Tlie Boys' Entertainer. 

Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
Children's Party Book. 
'' Plans, invitations, decorations, 

games. 
The Days We Celebrate. 

Entertainments for all the holidays. 
Good Things for Christmas. 

Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
The Little Folks, or Work and Play. 

A gem of a book. 
Little Folks' Budget. 

Easy pieces to speak, songs. 
One Hundred Entertainments. 

New parlor diversions, socials. 
Patriotic Celebrations. 

Great variety of material. 
Pranks and Pastimes. 

Parlor games for children. 
Shadow Pictures. Pantomimes. 

Charades, and how to prepare. 
Tableaux and Scenic Readings. 

New and novel; for all ages. 
Twinkling Finders and Swaying 

Fidures. For little tots. 
Yuletide Entertainments. 

A choice Christmas collection. 

HAND BOOKS 

Thu Debater's Handbook. 

Bound only in cloth, 50c. 
Everybody's Letter Writer. 

A handy manual. 
Good Manners. 

Etiquette in brief form. 
Private Theatricals. 

How to put on plays. 
Social Card Games. 

Complete in brief form. 

MINSTRELS, JOKES 

Black American Joker. 

Minstrels' and end men's gags. 
A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. 

Monologues , stump speeches,etc. 
Lau^hland, via the Ha-Ha Route. 

A merry trip for fun tourists. 
Ne^ro Minstrels. 

All about the business. 
The New Jolly Jester. 

Funny stories, jokes, gags, etc. 

Lar^e Illustrated Catalogue Free. 



T. S. DENISON £i COMPANY, Publishers, 154 W. Randolph St„ Chica^ 



\ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 863 886 1 



